


Death Is Not The End

by SilchasRuin



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Afterlife, And Romance. Eventually, Bickering, Drama, Humor, M/M, Mystery, Outrageous Insults, Slow Burn, Traces of Angst When Kira Shows Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2019-11-18 23:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 53,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18127658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilchasRuin/pseuds/SilchasRuin
Summary: When Light claws awake from the bullets and the blood and the pain and promptly hits himself in the face with the chain around his right wrist, his first coherent thought is: I should have seen this coming.Light Yagami expected only nothingness after death. When he finds himself alive, sane, and chained to L in some sort of afterlife instead, he becomes forced to work with the detective to figure out where they are - and why they have been put there - before the fraying barriers between his original personality and Kira come tumbling down.





	1. We Didn't Start The Fire

_The human whose name is written in this Note can neither go to Heaven nor Hell._

__When Light claws awake from the bullets and the blood and the pain and promptly hits himself in the face with the chain around his right wrist, his first coherent thought is: _I should have seen this coming._

 __And then, on turning his head: “Oh, _hell,_ no.”

“Hello, Kira-kun,” L says dolefully.

“This is not happening. This is not happening. This is not happening,” Light chants as he attempts to struggle his way up to a less embarrassing position. The last thing he remembers is bleeding out on the stairs and L’s ghost – _hallucination, be logical_ – standing over him as he died.

He is in the middle of a forest clearing, apparently, and chained to the world’s three greatest detectives, all of whom he killed five years ago. Logic has no place here.

That black-haired bastard, of course, is already comfortably curled into his favorite hunch, massive dark eyes staring fixedly at Light from his slightly tilted head. “Considering that we are subjectively experiencing events that denote some form of consciousness, Light-kun, that is a very atypically irrational conclusion.”

Light can only gape at him. There is something important that flits at the edges of his – _damn it, L_ – his _consciousness,_ something massive and winged and black. _Death,_ a voice whispers uncomfortably in his mind, but this is surely only natural considering what he’s been through. Already been, already dead, mouldering, gone –

Stop. Relax. Rewind. Panicking is definitely a bad decision, especially considering where it’s gotten him so far. The first order of business is analyzing the situation. He can get a bearing on his location, and then go from there.

His brain tells him, helpfully: _Trees._

 _Thanks for nothing, jackass._ Gritting his teeth, he turns to L. “L, do you know where we are?”

L continues to dissect him with his stare for a long, long, moment. Then, just as Light is about to break and ask again, he drones: “Kira-kun is not behaving in a typical manner for a megalomaniacal serial-killer with delusions of godhood. Is Kira-kun feeling well?”

 _He has a type for that,_ Light thought numbly. _Of course he does._ “You would know all about megalomania, wouldn’t you?”

L’s eyes narrow slightly. “Kira-kun must admit that he has been acting somewhat outside of the parameters of sanity of late.”

Light struggles to hold back a wince, because his memories may be fuzzy, but they’re not fuzzy enough to forget the utter humiliation of degenerating into full Mikami-levels of sweatdropping crazy. And then getting shot. Definitely not his finest hour. “Maybe so, but if you know where we are –“

“If Kira-kun is attempting to claim that he has conveniently lost his memory _again,_ I must inform him that the probability of his being –“

“L, we’re _dead!_ You’re dead!”

“That is not a very polite thing to say, Kira-kun.”

“I swear, I’m going to kick your scrawny –“

“Ah, that is more like it!”

“L!”

L sits back smugly, his validated hypothesis oozing out from every pore; now that he has won, it costs him nothing to graciously throw Light a bone. “I am not certain of our precise location, but judging by the climate conditions and present foliage, this environment bears a sixty percent chance of being based on that of –“

At that moment, an entire group of backpackers – complete with walking sticks, an impressive array of mosquito bites, and a slightly less impressive but infinitely more horrifying collection of cargo shorts – bursts through the bushy foliage on one side of the clearing, stopping dead at the sight of the two men, and the chain at their wrist, sitting on the grass. The remnants of Light’s rational mind run shrieking to go hide in a corner. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Please don’t kill us.”

“Dude. Is that, like, Asian or something?” the man in the lead asks rhetorically, seemingly perplexed. They _are_ human, these riders, and judging by their accents and skin tone, British. Light clings to the hope that, somehow, he and L have been discovered in this position by nobody with any sort of long-term memory storage whatsoever. And without any sorts of cameras or recording devices.

Cameras…like the ones hanging from half of their necks. Necks that are currently craned towards each other, whispering behind hands that keep pointing not-so-subtly towards the chain. _Shit._ Light considers carefully, prepares a story; opens his mouth to speak. “I can explain-“

“We are lost.” L says flatly, in perfectly accented English and with a complete lack of any surprise whatsoever.

The clearing falls silent, probably in incredulity at this new piece of stupidity. Finally, the lead backpacker speaks. “…Lost. You’re lost…in the middle of the forest, off the hiking trails…while tied to each other? With a metal chain?”

L nods, without blinking. “Exactly.”

For the second time that day, Light clearly sees his reputation going up in smoke before his eyes. Except it’s more like a giant bonfire, and L is happily roasting marshmallows over it. “You idiot,” he hisses at L, switching back to Japanese. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s fine, Kira-kun,” L says patronizingly. “I have this completely under control.”

“You are completely _insane!_ Seriously, do you even know what social skills are? There is no way that anyone is going to buy that moronic story-“

“…Okay.” Light whips his head around to stare at the lead backpacker, whose features have twisted into some sort of apelike approximation of solicitous sympathy. _No. No way. Nobody could possibly be that stupid._

 __“So, like, should we call the police or something?” a girl in the back ventures.

“The police? Were these guys, like, robbed?”

“Yes,” L says implacably.

“No!’ Light shouts immediately.

They both pause to glare at each other.

“A-anyways,” the leader says hurriedly, “we should probably guide these guys back to the trail-“

“Uh, Arthur…” One of the backpackers steps up warily. The man’s blue eyes are particularly sharp – _uh oh –_ and are practically goggling out of his face. Light notices that L’s own gaze has fixated on him in turn, and feels a brief pang of sympathy. Then he keeps talking, and it vanishes. “Don’t these guys look a little…strange to you?”

 “Of course they look _strange,_ they’ve just been robbed!” the leader – Arthur - hisses before turning back to them, his attempt at a smile warring in a particularly horrifying way with his scowl. The expression slides off his face just as quickly, replaced with utter confusion. “At least…I think they’ve been robbed?”

“Just that it’s an odd sort of way to chain someone up –“

“Insightful,” L murmured approvingly. “Unlike some others that I could mention, Kira-kun.”

“- and their location; they’re –“

“Chill out, Mark! You can complain about this all you want while we’re walking back.”

Mark pulls off the wounded puppy look far better than L ever could, Light thinks spitefully. It doesn’t stop L from muttering an increased percentage from under his breath as he gracefully swings past Light and proceeds to hunch-waddle along the trail like a demented, decidedly ignoble gnome.

It’s only been two hours, and Light already hates his unlife.

***

“I have a chain cutter, you know,” one of the backpacker girls says brightly, making a vague gesture at her rucksack. After reaching the trail, Arthur had belatedly decreed that the removal of the handcuffs should be their first priority, and Light had wholeheartedly agreed with that statement. He’s not sure he would trust any of these people with any sort of higher-level tool, though. Maybe flint knives. Or, even better, no sharp objects at all.

The suspicious backpacker – Mark – draws the girl to one side, muttering and gesticulating towards the chain. Undoubtedly, he has more questions about L’s ridiculously stupid story. L’s approval of him seems to be increasing exponentially by the second. _He’s enjoying this. He’s enjoying this. That sartorially challenged moron is enjoying every_ second _of this –_

 __L gives him a wide-eyed stare of disappointment. “Your overly restrictive sartorial sense notwithstanding, Kira-kun, your assessment is incorrect. He may, in fact, be the least moronic of all present here, with the exception of myself-“

“Not him, you idiot! You!”

L considers this statement, thumb worrying at the corners of his mouth. “Do you think they would take notice of our odd demeanor if I were to commence kicking you repeatedly in the head, Kira-kun?”

“Bring it on, bi-“

“Ahem.” Light whirls around and _oh my God_ the backpacker girl is standing there with a pair of _bolt cutters_ and Mark looks either very constipated or very puzzled and they are all going to die –

“Ah,” L says mildly, holding out his wrist. “Our chains, Kira-kun.”

“L,” Light hisses, glancing nervously at the duo in front of him. “She has a weapon and she’s grinning like some unholy fusion of Ryuk and Mikami _;_ are you _sure_ -“

L sighs wistfully, tilting his head to the side with all the woeful malice of a rabid lemur. “It is true that I must confess to a slight sense of nostalgia. I will miss being chained to Kira-kun when I –“

“ _OHGODOHGOD_ get these off _right now!”_ Light shrieks, attempting to throw himself at his bolt-cutter-bearing savior’s feet, dragging L down with him in the process.

L promptly kicks him in the head, with a foot that probably hasn’t been washed since he _died._

 __The girl takes a few prudent steps back, smiling benevolently at the tangle of flailing limbs and high-pitched screams from Light as they roll around in mutual strangleholds on the ground. “The two of them have such a lovely dynamic, don’t they, Mark?”

Light isn’t sure whether it’s him or Mark that chokes in utter and complete horror at this absurdity, but the expression on Mark’s face when Light finally passes out is something that not even death can make him forget.

***

Light dreams that the world is a knife’s-edge sharper, his mind a little clearer; dreams anything at all, so he doesn’t have to think about gun-metal gray and the beating of wings.

When he wakes, L is perched on the bed a few centimetres from his face, carefully stacking pieces of cherry tart in a tower on his forehead. “Good morning, Kira-kun.”

_I will not scream.  I will not flail. I will not kill him in the most agonizing way known to all of mankind._

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. When he opens them, L is still there. “I was promised nothingness,” he says to nobody in particular. “Sweet oblivion.”

L clicks his tongue; shakes his head sadly in disappointment. He carefully removes one cherry tart. “Uncharacteristic, as I said before, Kira-kun. You wanted to be immortalized. Revered, worshipped, never forgotten. A god.”

Light’s eyes narrow. L’s expression doesn’t change, but he can _see_ the percentages behind his eyes rising. “Get out of my face,” he says slowly.

“Or what? Kira-kun,” L adds belatedly.

The world dims briefly. He’s right, Light thinks. If they’re dead already, then what’s the point of all this? What can he really threaten L with that’s worse than –

He stops. A demonic laugh rises within his throat. His eyes flare as he sweeps his arm out dramatically, watching L lean back cautiously.

“What will I do? What will I do? Ahahahah! I’ll take this cherry tart…AND EAT IT!”

L catches his wrist as he sweeps the tart inward. “Don’t you dare, Kira-kun,” he says, deadly serious.

That’s when Light jerks suddenly, sending cherry tart pieces – and L, dashing after them – everywhere. L grabs the tart in his hand, but he jerks his head downward, catches a piece on his tongue. _Success!_ For a moment, he doesn’t even care about the sugary red streak down his forehead and nose. It is a badge of victory, of overly sweet, cherry-flavored honor. One moment – until L kicks him in the face again.

He’s probably had hours to take a shower. Brush his teeth. Comb his hair. He probably hasn’t done any of those things.

After the fight is over, they collapse side-by-side on the floor, each panting, exhausted, but unwilling to admit defeat. Bits of cherry tart are everywhere. In his hair. Streaked across both of their clothes. But in a sense, he’s thwarted L. He ate that cherry tart. He’s won-

“Kira-kun knows that these are our only clothes, right?”

No. This can’t be happening. “We’ll buy more.”

“We have no money, Kira-kun. We were robbed.”

“No, we weren’t! You made that up!”

“Very well, Kira-kun. A detailed explanation, since you seem to need one. You killed Watari, and you killed me, and then you died -“ His eyes sweep dispassionately across Light’s face. “-Presumably several years later. Congratulations. If you had only remembered to kill a wallet or two while you were industriously copying down the names of thousands of people-“

“Criminals,” Light says automatically.

“Tens of thousands of people, we wouldn’t be in this situation. But alas, Kira-kun, we are.” L looks down at his shirt, gives the cherry stains a cursory brush. “I think these streaks suit me. Wouldn’t you agree? They look like…tie-dye.”

Light lets his head fall against the floor with an audible _thunk._ They stay there in silence for a moment.

“Why am I here?”

“As I explained, Kira-kun. You killed Watari, then you killed me-“

“No, not that.”

“Ah. After you were knocked out, I convinced the backpackers that you were suffering from acute heat stroke. They – ‘chipped in’, I believe, to put us up in a hotel for a night while we sort out our things –“

“No,” Light interrupts wearily. “I don’t even mean that. I mean…why am I _here?_ With you?”

L is silent for a few moments. “I…have no idea,” he says. There’s an odd note in his voice, and when Light looks over at him, he is met with a tiny smile. “Isn’t that interesting, Kira-kun?”

And, may all the gods help him, it is.


	2. But We're Burning Down The House

It takes three rinses and most of the hotel’s complimentary shampoo bottles to get the smell of cherries out of Light’s hair. No amount of scrubbing is quite enough to save his shirt, although Light grimly continues to rub at the cherry stains until they no longer look anything in the slightest like –

_a spray of arterial blood and disbelief –_

\- like they could have been intentional. He isn’t sure if that makes it better or worse, but it’s certainly better than the alternative.

Luckily, someone had removed his jacket while he had been passed out – privately, Light is a little grateful for L’s idiotic heatstroke story, not that he’ll ever tell him that – and, although he has to button it up enough for his look to teeter dangerously on the edge of being unfashionable, it manages to hide the worst of the discoloration.

In contrast, it takes the World’s Three Greatest Slobs no time at all to get ready. This is because L doesn’t even bother to attempt cleaning himself up. In fact, at one point, Light is pretty sure he even catches his nemesis attempting to scrounge any stray crumbs of cherry tart from the floor. This is horrifying on so many levels that, for the next several hours, he does his best to pretend that L does not exist, and that he is merely trapped in a solipsistic nightmare of his own devising.

Although, if his mind has somehow decided to focus on _L_ as the one point of familiarity in his fantasy world, it is clear that he has far more serious problems than just being dead.

Closing his eyes, Light does his best to block out the occasional hums of delight from the other end of the room, punctuated by what sounds suspiciously like…chewing? 

But this isn’t the time to think about that. Light probably has only a few precious moments before L defaults back to his standard disposition as Light’s personal irritant. Like a chemical burn on legs, except with even worse posture.

No. Stop. If L is the only thing familiar to him in this place, his first priority must be finding something else that he can use as a point of reference. And he will have to do so quickly, before L gets his hands on any more cherry tarts-

A long, pale finger pokes him in the side of the head. A _sticky,_ unwashed finger.

“Kira-kun’s beauty regimen does not seem to have improved much,” L muses thoughtfully. “It has, however, gotten much longer.”

“Why.” Light’s voice is flat.

L’s eyes widen even further. “Is this a philosophical question again, Kira-kun?”

Being around L is probably bad for his teeth, considering how much he has to clench his jaw to stop himself from screaming. “No.”

L shrugs. “There was something in your hair.”

“Something in my-“ Despite himself, his voice rises higher. “It was leave-in conditioner! It’s *supposed* to be in my hair!”

“That does not sound very hygienic.”

“Hygienic?!” Light shrieks. “ _You’re_ lecturing me on hygiene? Do you even know what that word means?”

“Sanitary; clean or cleanly, or related to health,” L says promptly. “Although in Kira-kun’s case, it also seems to be synonymous with metrosexuality.”

Light begins to wonder if he is in some sort of specially-constructed personal hell.

L seems to take his speechlessness for assent, nodding to himself in a self-satisfied manner. “If Kira-kun is finally finished with the washroom, I should take a quick shower.” Just as Light thinks his torment might be over, L lashes out one last time. “It could be a while before we have a chance to take another one.”

He wastes precious seconds in stunned silence.

Eyes narrowing in determination, he sweeps over to the hotel phone on the bedside table. He waits until the first sounds of the shower begin from inside the bathroom before dialing the long-distance number for the NHN station back home. It would be late in the workday in Japan, but early enough for the person he was looking for to still be at her desk.

He dials Takada’s extension with a practised hand, waiting impatiently as the phone rings. When she finally picks up, the woman’s voice at the other end of the line is unfamiliar.

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon,” he says smoothly, sending as much of his charm through the receiver as possible. “This is Yagami. May I please speak to Takada-san?”

“Who?”

He frowns. He knows that he dialed the right number. “Takada Kiyomi-san. The newscaster for News 6?”

A flash of irritation reveals itself in the woman’s voice. “I apologize, but NHN does not have a News 6 station. Perhaps you meant News at Nine?”

Fingers of ice stroke down his spine, and for a moment, he is drowning on dry land once again, lungs filling inexorably with his own blood.

“Yes, that must be it,” he lies. “I’m sorry to trouble you. I’m her cousin – we were meant to have dinner tonight, but I’m running late at work, and I must have misread her work number.”

“Of course,” the woman’s voice says immediately, instantly warmer. “One moment, please. I’ll see if Takada-san is there.” Light drums his fingers on the table impatiently, but the woman returns shortly after. “I’m sorry,” she says solicitously. “There is no Takada Kiyomi in our records. I’m afraid you have the wrong number, Mister-what did you say your name was?”

Wordlessly, he hangs up. 

Beyond the blood pounding in his ears, all he can hear is the surety in the unknown woman’s voice. No News 6. No Takada.

Certainly, he can accept that Takada might not have wanted to return to her old life after dying. No matter how unpleasant his death had been, burning alive had undoubtedly been much, much worse. But for there to still be a Japanese NHN news station – just without a News 6 channel?

What else in this world has changed?

Slowly, he realizes that one thing *has* changed for certain. He can no longer hear the shower.

He turns to stare at L, still fully clothed and slouching comfortably against the doorframe. “You seem surprised to see me, Kira-kun.”

“I was hoping the water would melt you,” he snaps. “You were listening?”

“Rude as always, Kira-kun,” L drones. “What happened to those charming manners you had when we first met?” 

Light is in no mood to play games with him. “You’re the detective. Figure it out.”

“Hmmm,” L sighs. Momentarily disappointed, he instantly jumps to a new angle of attack with all the dedication of a dog abandoning the pursuit of one squirrel for another. He tilts his head. “To tell the truth, Kira-kun, I was not very interested in finding out who you would call.”

Light folds his arms. “Really.”

“No,” L continues. “I think that who Kira-kun _didn’t_ call is much more interesting.”

Light freezes, every muscle in his body straining to look casual. There are three names that swim in the shadows at the base of his skull, three names he can’t ever think about again. If L ever finds out –

“Takada Kiyomi-san. A woman’s name.” L sounds as if he’s simply talking to himself harmlessly, but Light knows better. “Calling another woman first…Won’t Amane-san be jealous?"

He can’t help but feel an instant rush of relief. L doesn’t know it, but he’s misplayed his hand. “Misa doesn’t care, because she’s not dead,” he says with a shrug, dangling the obvious carrot – or carrot cake, in L’s case – in front of his face. _Come on, come on, take the bait…_

L happily obliges. “Oh? So the second Kira is still alive?”

Now he is back on familiar territory. Light stretches out on the bed, arms behind his head. “Like I said, you’re the detective, L. What do you think?”

“Oh, I know the second Kira is dead,” L says casually. Light is pretty sure that his ghastly, unnerving smile is on purpose. Between the sheer horror that is L’s face and his general psychotic demeanor, Light is completely unable to tell whether he is lying or not. “I really should take that shower, though. We only have five minutes before we have to check out.”

Light barely has a fraction of a microsecond to relax before L pokes his head back out the bathroom door. “Oh…it’s too bad about your hair, Kira-kun.”

The door slams shut once more.

“Wait, what?!” Frantically, he searches for a mirror. Finds one. Finds the pink streak from L’s fingers, as well. “God _damn_ it, L!” He pounds on the bathroom door, but of course it’s locked. Briefly, he considers breaking it down.

Of course, the one time he doesn’t actually want L to act like a normal human being, he does. It takes fifteen minutes before L emerges from the shower. Light barely has time to scrub the cherry out - _again_ \- before he has to pat the strands roughly into place. Shoving the last of the free shampoo and conditioner bottles into his pocket, he hurries after L towards the front desk.

“I am so sorry for being late-“ he begins to explain to the woman at the front desk.

L cuts him off. “Actually, Kira-kun, we are half an hour early.”

“WHAT?!” He nearly grabs L by the collar, but backs off at the wary look from the concierge.

L shrugs, already ambling out of the lobby. “I wanted to see how Kira-kun’s hair looks when he hasn’t had three hours to style it. This style looks quite nice on you, by the way. So…asymmetrical. How fetching.”

“I’m going to kill you when we get out of here,” Light snarls, marching after him.

“Already adding another charge to your list of crimes, Kira-kun?”

“For the last time, they were _criminals_ -“

“Oh, I’m not talking about that, Kira-kun. I’m talking about the multiple long-distance charges added to the room bill which we have no way of paying for.”

“Multiple-? L! Who did you call?”

“Everyone,” the detective said simply. “Wammy’s House does not exist here, by the way. Neither does Watari. Or the task force. Or anything to do with Kira. Or any of my various contacts.” He walks a little faster. “All things considered, it is probably best for us to distance ourselves from this hotel.”

Light is not sure which revelation he should react to first. “You-“

“No, not me, Kira-kun.” L flashes him another ghastly grin. “I booked the room under your name.”

Just over fourteen hours in, and Light *still* hates his unlife.

He hates L even more.

***

Light is hungry. He’s thirsty. Worst of all, he is _unfashionable._

He’s also starting to get a pounding headache building behind his eyes. He doesn’t know if it’s possible to suffer a concussion while already dead. It would almost be a relief, at this point.

L turns to him immediately as he stops dead in the middle of the street. “Hmm? Kira-kun?”

“This is unacceptable,” Light says flatly. “We are going to find someone and convince them to help us. Or find a phone and keep calling until we get someone useful on the line. Literally anything.”

L’s panda-like eyes are suspiciously innocent. “Anything?”

“ _Figuratively_ anything.”

“You are in luck, Kira-kun,” L says solemnly. 

Light’s eyes follow where his finger is pointing. “Oh, _hell_ no. L, no. We are not doing this. This is completely beneath my dignity.”

“Do you have a better idea, Kira-kun?”

He catches the eye of a passing young woman – decently dressed, more-or-less pretty but not pretty enough to not feel flattered by a handsome man’s attentions. She gives him a once-over, but her smile wavers as she glances at his hair and the stupid, slightly-wrinkled, buttoned-too-high jacket.

And then she catches sight of L’s unblinking stare next to him, and hastily rushes off.

_Shit. Shitshitshit._

“…no. I do not have a better idea.”

L gently detaches the poster he had been pointing at from its position on a signpost, settling it into Light's hands with an air of solicitous triumph. He is no more graceful in victory than in anything else he does. Nobody can match him for sheer smugness, though. “I thought not, Kira-kun.”

***

If anyone had told Kira, God of the New World, that in less than twenty-four hours he would be wrestling with a chihuahua named Mr. Fluffymittens in an (un)life-or-death struggle, he would have laughed in their face with more-or-less varying degrees of sanity.

Unfortunately for him, they would have been absolutely right.

They walk away from Mrs. Delores Wicket’s house with her teary expressions of gratitude ringing in their ears, as well as a basket of muffins (which L is currently hogging) and two hundred pounds of reward money in their pockets.

“I hate you,” Light mutters.

“I know,” L says cheerfully, spraying muffin crumbs everywhere.

They walk along in silence for a bit.

“Where are we going?” Light asks eventually.

“I know a hotel in one of the rougher neighbourhoods that would be suitable for us, for now.” L looks him up and down critically. “You really need a shower, Kira-kun.”

Light doesn’t dignify that with a response.

When they reach the hotel – a homely, but surprisingly respectable-looking establishment, Light steps forward to handle the social interactions out of habit.

The concierge takes one look at Light’s ragged attire and physically _recoils_.

“Perhaps I had better take care of this, Kira-kun.” L pats him on the shoulder patronizingly. He proceeds to negotiate expertly with the concierge for room and board for a few nights. The concierge even cracks a smile at L, hunched back and eerie stare notwithstanding.

It’s official. This is hell.

And Light is thoroughly, utterly doomed.


	3. Fighting Fire With Fire

Light Yagami has never been grateful for many things in his life, but the pathetic gratitude that fills him when he discovers that the convenience store across the road carries cheap toothbrushes and combs truly sets the tone for what his unlife has become.

His bad mood only intensifies when L, barely looking up from the stack of raisins he has picked from the corpse of a disembowelled muffin, pushes away the comb he proffers. "There is a ninety-eight percent chance that Kira-kun has just wasted our money on a useless frippery."

"It's a _comb_ , you idiot," he hisses. "You need it."

"No, Kira-kun needs it," L corrects him, demolishing the tower with a bored sweep of his hand. "The comb is not a comb. It is a crutch behind which Kira-kun hides his rotten personality, drawing unsuspecting ants towards the sweet exterior while concealing the corruption within-"

"Are you done being symbolic?" he demands. 

L meets his eyes for a long moment, then pinches a raisin between thumb and forefinger and deliberately drops it on the floor. "No."

He throws up his hands. "I don't care. We need a stable source of income for housing and food-"

"We have food."

"Food that is _not_ muffins."

L concedes the point. "Very well. Kira-kun owes me at least one strawberry tart."

Light pauses. Come to think of it - "L, where did you get those tarts from?"

Two owlish eyes blink innocently at him. "Room service."

Not the backpackers, then. He speaks slowly, deliberately, as if to a child. "How did you *pay* for the strawberry tarts?"

"With Kira-kun's wallet, of course."

Light automatically checks his pockets, but they are as empty as they were when he awoke. With effort, he stifles the crazed laughter bubbling in this throat. At last, he has caught the so-called detective in a lie. It is ludicrous to think that L had somehow wandered to a currency exchange station while he was passed out-

L throws his wallet at him. It hits Light in the face with a gentle _thwack_. "The backpackers seemed fascinated by the foreign money. They offered a more-or-less even exchange rate."

_Less,_ he thinks, rapidly calculating as he notes the complete lack of any bills - and, unfortunately, any paper - in his wallet. Unless the idiot had actually managed to eat eighty pounds' worth of tarts. Light wants to kill L again, for his impossibly thin figure if nothing else.

"All of the credit cards cards declined, by the way," the latter says with a shrug. "There is, therefore, an electronic record associated with your name at that hotel."

He wants nothing more than to hit L in the face again; to grab a fistful of the raisins he hates and cram them down his throat until he chokes to death on them. (The violence of his afterthought startles him, but only momentarily. Light is ninety-nine percent certain that he is still in shock.) But he notices L's deliberate, fixed stare at his clothing, and wouldn't put it past the bastard to rip his shirt beyond repair, marking him indelibly as a _failure_. He must avoid fighting at all costs.

For now.

"You know, I did you a big favor by killing you," he says, voice calm. "You were going to die of cardiovascular disease anyways, it was a foregone conclusion-"

"The fact that Kira-kun's brain possesses insufficient power to burn a significant number of calories, let alone use them for comprehension, is hardly my problem-"

"It's no wonder you're constantly spouting garbage with all of the junk you shovel down the bottomless pit in your _shinigami_ -looking face-"

"Ah, another superficial comment about appearances. Do not worry, I am sure Kira-kun's death was as ugly and brutal as his nature."

Light is surprised at how cold the lies feel as they float up from within him. For a moment, his tongue ties in knots; he doesn't want to say it, but the Note is truly out of his grasp, and all this is L's fault for _pushing_ , pushing, pushing until he breaks- "You should be the only one worried, L. After all, no matter how clean your death was, nobody missed you after you were gone."

L is silent. With a start, Light resurfaces, feels the icy water recede from his spine. _Why...did I go so far?_ He can't apologize; can't admit that he was wrong. It is Light who has made a mistake, and he is trapped in isolation again, bereft of memory, waiting for the bullets he knows will come.

"Kira-kun did not have any pictures in his wallet."

"What?" He stares blankly at L. What does that have to do with what he just said?

"Ah, so Kira-kun has picked up something from Matsuda after all," L murmurs, and he bristles, pulled back to the present.

"Hey!"

"People keep pictures of those they care about," L explains, and Light tries desperately not to let his anger resurface at the patience in his voice. L tilts his head to emphasize his words. "If Kira-kun had nobody that he cared about, does it really matter whether they mourned him or not?"

Light wants to say that it's untrue. He really does. But the names that come to mind are tinged in gray, either dead or obstacles in his way - in Kira's way - and he can't say that they actually meant anything to him, by the end.

Maybe they had, once, to Light. But not to Kira.

And, with a flash of terror, he understands what is happening to him.

"L. We have a problem," he chokes through leaden lips.

"Yes, I know," the detective says calmly. "The reward money will barely last us a night. We need a steady source of income beyond the occasional feisty chihuahua."

"L, you know very well what I'm trying to say!" Light snaps.

"Do I?" L's head tilt grows even more alarming. "Do _you_ , Kira-kun?"

Any response that Light could possibly have formulated is cut short by a sharp rap on their room door.

"Ah," L says calmly.

His eyes narrow. "An expected guest?"

"The solution to our problem," L responds, ambling slowly over the door. "We are the new hotel detectives of the Winged Victoria Boarding House. Congratulations." He looks Light over critically. "You may want to comb your hair."

Light is well aware that he currently looks less trustworthy than Mello in all his leather-clad glory. Or lack thereof. "Since you seem to have dealt with our employer before, it would be better if you handle the salary negotiations, then." Before L can protest, he grabs the convenience store bag containing the combs and toothbrushes, ducks into the bathroom, and locks the door.

His eyes in the mirror are haunted, older than they should be. But they are still brown, rather than red.

Once again, he thinks: _For now._

After one last shower, a fourth rinse of his shirt, and careful steaming of his tie, he is finally himself once again. Light widens his eyes just a fraction, draws the corners of his mouth ever-so-slightly upward. Nobody would mistake the man in the mirror for the young, outwardly confident boy who had attended To-Oh university so long ago, sleepwalking through life. But nobody would mistake him for the cruel, arrogant, perfectly self-assured God of the New World, either.

It would have to be good enough.

When he opens the bathroom door, he nearly walks straight into L, who is hunched disapprovingly barely a centimeter from the frame. "We are late, Kira-kun," he says dolefully.

"You could have just knocked like a normal person," Light grumbles. Shrugging, he smooths down his jacket. "Late for what?"

"Evicting a pair of errant cocaine smugglers from the hotel." L sounds as if he is reciting the weather forecast. "Is Kira-kun ready?"

L isn't joking. Of course he isn't. Still, being a glorified bouncer sounds slightly more appealing than waiting tables, or whatever dull alternative would have been the most practical. He gestures elaborately. "After you, L. Age before beauty."

L taps his chin with one long finger. "Technically, I died first."

"Technically?" Light demands. "I have five years on you!"

"Precisely!" L repeats the gesture. "After you, Kira-kun!"

Light sighs. Someone has to be the mature one, or they will be stuck here all day. And somehow, he is sure that L will manage to screw up any sort of ordinary job that requires normal human interaction. "If I get shanked, L, it's your fault."

"I am sure Kira-kun will survive! He is very resilient, after all. Like a cockroach."

Secure in the knowledge that he looks damned amazing once more, Light saunters out. In his five years as L, he has handled negotiations with terrorists, bank robbers, and the worst that humanity had to offer. (And killed them afterwards. In style, of course.) How bad can a couple of bottom-of-the-barrel smugglers be?

***

"GIVE ME BACK MY COCAINE!"

Light gapes at the sheer amount of destruction in his field of vision. The man cowering in the corner barely manages to dart out of the way before a chair leg smashes into the wall behind him. "I don't have the cocaine, you crazy bitch!" He catches sight of the two new hotel detectives in the doorway. "Hey! You! Tell this psycho to give back _my_ cocaine!"

The woman still has a sharp object in her hands, and he only has one jacket. "Did our new boss give us tasers or anything?" he whispers.

"We are low-budget hotel detectives," L informs him.

"Great," he hisses, surveying the scene. They probably have mere seconds before the woman turns her attention to them. "Remind me why our esteemed employer didn't just call the police to deal with these idiots?"

"Because I convinced him that we could handle this with a minimum of notoriety." L shakes his head sadly. "Unless I have once again overestimated Kira-kun's intelligence, of course."

There is no way he is going to admit defeat in a situation like _this_. "Hey!" he snaps, and three crazed pairs of eyes focus on him. He knows that including L is petty, but he doesn't care. "If I find your cocaine, will you idiots agree to just take it and get out of here?"

Evidently, he had them at "cocaine". Both the man and the woman lower their hands, then cautiously nod.

"Good." He forces a smile of understanding onto his face. "Why don't you tell me what happened?" He feels L push past him into the room, and the smile freezes on his face. "And my...colleague...as well."

They both start talking at once, and he is forced to intervene again. "One at a time!" He points at the less stable one. L is currently crawling around on the floor with an intent expression on his face, and the later she notices him, the better. Although if L starts picking crumbs out of *this* carpet, he won't hesitate to leave everything to his so-called partner. "You first."

"The coke was in our suitcase," the woman says, pointing at a tipped-over, battered-looking bag near what remains of the bed. "It was there an hour ago, all of it! We were having a bit of a celebration-" Light's eyes dart over to the smashed bottle of wine and upturned glasses resting on a surprisingly intact table. Barely any wine seems to have been left in the bottle before it was broken, judging by the size of the stain on the carpet. "I had a little too much. I fell asleep...but I was only out for half an hour! I swear! And when I checked the bag, the coke was gone!" She pointed an accusing finger at the man. "He must have taken it!"

An incredibly unhelpful statement. Shocking. "What does it look like?" he says patiently.

Both of them stare at him blankly. "It's white, man," the male smuggler says hesitantly. "Like...powder?"

"The package," Light says through gritted teeth. He is surrounded by idiots.

"Ohhhhh. It's wrapped in brown paper. A square." The man gestures roughly with his hands. "Do you want to hear my version?"

Light nods curtly, and the man continues. "After she passed out, I went to take a shower. I was gone for maybe twenty minutes? Anyways, I came back, saw the suitcase was open, and the coke was gone. It was obvious what happened! She took it! And when I woke her up, she just lied about me stealing it and tore the whole damn room apart!" He glares at the woman.

"Could someone else have taken it?" Light doubts it, but he has to ask.

"The door was locked as of forty-five minutes ago," L calls from the bathroom. _Oh, so now he decides to actually contribute?_ Light frowns. Not that he needs him, anyways. 

He opens the door and checks the handle. Sure enough, it auto-locks when opened. Walking over, he tests the window, but the latch has long-since rusted shut. So. A locked-room mystery for the budget- and taste-impaired.

L emerges from the bathroom, a small brown package held gingerly in his towel-wrapped hand. "I found it."

"Hold it!" Light glares at the couple as they move forward eagerly. "You'll only get that back once you get out of here."

L makes a tutting noise. "Isn't Kira-kun forgetting something?"

"What would I be forgetting, how unnecessarily irritating you are?" he snaps. "I'm reminded of that every second, thanks."

"And here I thought that Kira-kun's sense of so-called justice would drive him to identify the thief." L sighs dramatically. "But we both know those ideals are a fraud, don't we?"

Light rolls his eyes. A pathetic mystery like this is no match for someone like him. "The answer is obvious. They're both scumbags."

"Hey!" the man protests. "I mean, yeah, that's true, but that's irrelevant-"

Light's right eye twitches. "No, it's the answer." He points at the woman. "The room was locked. You took care not to destroy the glasses that would support your flimsy alibi while you were happily tearing up the rest of the room. You hid the cocaine while he was in the washroom before you fell asleep." He turns to the man. "Like my colleague, you are chronically hygienically challenged." Ignoring the man's surreptitious smelling of his shirt, he continues. "You took a quick shower and found that the cocaine was gone when you emerged. It probably didn't take even someone like you very long to find where she had hidden it-"

"In the vent," the man mutters.

"Truly pathetic."

"Hey!" the woman sputters. "I resent that!"

"Shut up." Light turns to L. "Where did you find it?"

"In the toilet tank," L states matter-of-factly.

"Disgusting," he replies flatly.

"I knew she was going to focus on the vent, and that she'd never look there. At first, at least." The man shrugs. "So, do we get the coke back now, or...?"

L drops the package, towel and all, into the suitcase. "Thank you for your stay," he says unceremoniously, pulling the bag out the door.

Once they are safely outside, Light leans back against the door. "So, are we calling the police now?"

L gives the concierge a significant nod, then regards Light solemnly. "I have notified our employer."

"So that's a no, then." He sighs.

"Kira-kun is very judgmental, for being a thief himself."

_"You_ made all those calls, not me-"

"Yet Kira-kun had no problem calling the newscaster woman," L says casually, and Light forces the muscles in his back to relax. But L doesn't pursue the topic further. "Congratulations, Kira-kun. We have earned a couple more days in this fine establishment."

"Great. Wonderful," he says sarcastically. "I can tell we're really moving up in the world."

"How the mighty have fallen," L smirks, and Light really does nearly punch him. The thought of his single shirt stops him.

"How much did we make, exactly?"

"Two days' stay, and continental breakfast," L says promptly. "Or, if we are being stupid, one suit of clothes."

His eyes narrow to slits. He must tread carefully. "One shirt's worth of money, and I can return the investment twofold," he says confidently. As soon as even a trace of skepticism appears on L's features, he unveils his true weapon. "The same, of course, goes for the cherry tart I owe."

L brightens immediately. "Very well. After all, with our most pressing needs filled, this will give us a good opportunity to further investigate our environment."

_Yes,_ Light thinks to himself, gaze laser-focused on L's back. _It will._

After all, L could easily have been lying about the phone calls he had made. And if Light can find even one person from the ashes of his old life, he's sure he can persuade them to his way of thinking quickly enough.

That's one thing that both Light and Kira are good at.


	4. Fire On The Water

Light knows that his standards have fallen. But one look at L's forlorn slump as he announces his intention to try on another two styles of shirt, and he can't quite seem to bring himself to care. His lips curve into a familiar snarling grin as L's head droops even lower, privately savoring his triumph for as long as he can.

"One hundred and ten percent, Kira-kun," L drones without looking up.

Light bites back his hiss of frustration. _How does he have any peripheral vision with that wretched excuse for hair in his face all the time?_ "What is the point of these stupid percentages, anyways? We have established that I am Kira, and that I killed you. I _won._ Get over it."

"Yes, I see that your victory is working out well for you," L says mildly.

Two can play at this game. Maintaining eye contact, he reaches out and grabs the first three shirts he can find. Ordinarily, those three words - "off the rack" - would make him cringe. Today, they are his greatest weapons. "You know, I think I need to consider my choices some more."

"We agree again! Kira-kun's life choices are extremely poor."

"Do you want me to try on the entire store?" 

He expects at least a courtesy flinch at the implied threat, but L's slouch looks far too comfortable for his liking. "Perhaps not _all_ of it. There is a one-hundred percent chance that those stripes will make you look fat, Kira-kun."

His eyes dart quickly towards the shirts in his hand as he schools his face into stillness. Of all the clothing shops in London, of bloody _course_ he's chosen the one where that fashion-disaster-criminal, Matt, must have shopped while he was alive. The worst part is that he's can't back down now, or show any weakness, because he knows that deceptively innocent look on L's face almost as well as he knows himself. Which is yet another depressing realization in a whole litany of various horrors, not least of which is the fact that apparently the entire universe hates him, now.

Once again, he mentally curses Ryuk for lying to him about Mu as he stalks towards the change room, unable to muster up even a single word to preserve the last shreds of his dignity. Reluctantly, Light is forced to discard his previous plan of forcing L to actually give an opinion on the endless parade of shirts he's been thinking of trying on. Sure, it isn't the most imaginative plan he's ever had, but he likes the sheer pettiness of it. After all, he knows how much L hates boredom, routine, an utter lack of any stimulation. And, if nothing else, it would make a pointed statement about how completely juvenile everything his nemesis says and does is.

Of course, if he goes through with it now, he and L both know that he'll have to wear that hideous striped shirt at some point. Whereupon that bastard - whose face is more black-circles than human, and is in no way whatsoever qualified to give any sort of sartorial advice - will widen his enormous eyes just a little, and say something like: "Kira-kun really has put on a few pounds. Evidently, his entire life is not the _only_ thing he has completely lost control of."

Or: "Ah, convict stripes truly suit Kira-kun's personality! Now his outside appearance can finally reflect his inside, as well!"

Or, more likely: "Kira-kun is doing a better job of insulting himself while locked in this change room, muttering angrily at a pile of shirts, than I ever could!" But Light can't see the shirts right now, can't see the poorly-lit walls boxing him in. The sun is down, and he is on a rooftop in the rain, and L's eyes are bottomless pits that what is left of his soul is falling into, tumbling over and over into lightless waters without end. "Can you hear the bells, Kira-kun?"

_"Can you still feel guilt, Kira-kun?"_

To ask Kira this is senseless; Kira has long since passed beyond good or evil. But when Light Yagami considers the question, he finds that he no longer knows how to answer.

Light cups his hands over his mouth and nose and breathes in and out until the change room swims back into focus and the ringing in his ears fades. The shirts on the stool lie untouched in the corner, and he doesn't know how much time he's lost in reverie. Watching to make sure his hands are perfectly steady, he digs through the pile until he finds the least objectionable one, a satisfyingly stain-resistant plain dark gray button-up. Shaking the shirt until it looks like he's bothered to try it on, he bends to gather up the rest, grimacing as he catches sight of a particularly hideous polka-dotted specimen. If bad taste were a crime, this place would have been among the first on Kira's list. He hurriedly rearranges the pile so that the most ordinary-looking shirts are on top. It wouldn't do to give L any ideas about actually _wearing_ the things-

Wait.

This time, the hand in front of his mouth only stays long enough to hide his spreading smile. Finally, he thinks as he throws open the door as dramatically as he can manage, he feels like himself again.

He does his best to ignore how much 'feeling like himself' seems synonymous with stepping into Kira's skin once more.

***

"Justice does not actually exist."

Light's fixed smile finally slips from his face. Despite his companion's displeasure, the shirt really has been worth ten times its weight in gold. With his usual devastatingly attractive appearance restored, wrapping the extraordinarily shifty hotel concierge around his little finger has been delightfully simple. He finds it distasteful to pretend to be so friendly with such an obvious criminal - even _L's_ company is preferable - but the benefits, he must admit, are unparalleled.

The shiny new uniforms he and L are wearing - complete with polished black caps, nametags, and formal dark shoes - are probably the most satisfying of these new benefits. To his annoyance, L's managed to ensure that Light's nametag simply reads "Kira", but watching a scowling L squeeze his feet into actual footwear every morning more than makes up for it. 

The past day has been quiet enough on the job front. The worst they've had to deal with since the cocaine idiots has been a drunk attempting to steal the stainless steel cutlery from the hotel restaurant by conspicuously shoving it somewhere Light would strongly prefer never to think about again. Of course, on the socially-challenged detective front, L's constant stream of insults have been escalating in direct proportion to the length of time he keeps the shoes on.

It's a shame, really. L doesn't look half-bad when he's actually wearing decent clothing for once.

Still, Light can't just let a comment like that go. "You're the one who got us this job in the first place, so stop whining about the unfairness of actually having to do work. I can't believe the task force ever managed to get anything done with someone as lazy as you in charge."

"On one hand, you profess to believe in the impartial ideal of justice. On the other, you claim that a law enforcement agency was better off being headed by a serial murderer and megalomaniac. Which is it?"

"Impartial?" Light snaps. "Do you seriously think 'impartiality' is defined by allowing actual murderers and rapists to continue committing their crimes because of technicalities and corruption?"

"So assault, thievery, and white-collar crime are exempt from Kira-kun's definition of 'unforgivable' crimes?"

Light narrows his eyes. "Don't insult my intelligence by trying to trap me. It is obvious that not all crimes necessarily deserve the same punishments, but surely even *you* can understand that not all crimes are equal, either."

"Crimes such as murder?" L says dryly.

"If you had the power to kill a serial murderer who you knew would kill again and again if he wasn't stopped, at what point would it be a worse crime to fail to stop him?" Light smirks. "Where do you draw the line, as such a _great_ detective? Ten people? A hundred? A thousand?"

"I never needed to kill you to stop you," L says calmly.

Light laughs, scorn and incredulity mixing in his voice. "If you hadn't been too weak to take the necessary measures, tens of thousands of scum wouldn't have died. Including yourself and your precious Watari. But don't worry," he adds when L doesn't visibly react. "Even more of their victims lived, when they previously would have died. So overall, your cowardice balances out in a net positive."

"Do you want me to congratulate you for using a supernatural crutch to achieve a temporary victory? How unjust of you, Kira-kun."

"I used all the tools at my disposal-"

"And I did not, to uphold the civilizational standard of justice, even knowing that I would die for it. Which one of us is the coward here?"

He doesn't realize that he's slamming L into the wall until he's already done so, fingers digging into the other man's collarbones. "I made the world a _better place,_ " he snarls. "Don't you dare act like you're better than me - don't you dare act like you're so fucking _holy_ , you locked me in a room and held a gun to my head; don't you _ever_ blame me for the fact that you were stupid enough to reveal your face just because you wanted to play your damn games-"

He's panting like an animal; he knows that his eyes are far too wide with rage and his grip is hard enough to bruise. L should be reacting by now. Kneeing him unexpectedly to knock all the breath from his body, elbowing him sharp and unrelenting in the gut; hell, even an undignified headbutt. Anything except just standing there, an infinitely patient mechanism of hard angles and deep black shadows against snow-pale (corpse-pale) skin, watching as Kira and Light's pain bleeds from him in fits and spurts and the man left behind breaks down.

"I had to be sure," he says quietly as Light does his best to force his fingers to unclench. "Did you ever make a mistake, Kira-kun?"

_Yeah, not writing 'food coma' as your cause of death,_ he thinks, but he knows the joke is a weak cover for Kira's absence. Thinking objectively, Light has made many mistakes. Naomi Misora. Lind L Tailor. Reiji Namikawa. The three mistakes that he can't name, that he keeps etched on his heart. But that isn't L's question. "No," he says, and his voice is firm. "I made sure, for every one."

"Really?" L tilts his head skeptically. "You had infallible proof that each one committed those crimes? Which would have stood the test of any truly impartial court of law? And you personally verified that information for tens of thousands of people?"

"I was sure," he repeats. "There were records. Witnesses."

"Records can be incomplete. Witnesses can lie, or be mistaken." L shakes his head. "You couldn't have known for _all_ of them, Kira-kun."

"I knew enough."

"So you would rather one innocent be punished than have ten guilty men go free?" There is an odd note in L's voice, and Light can't tell if it's sadness or genuine disappointment.

"I saved so many more innocents for each man that I killed," he rasps. "Do you really think that can't be called justice?"

L sounds far gentler than he remembers him ever being in life. "I think that if Kira-kun's idea of justice was the truth, the world could hardly be called a good place, let alone a better one."

Light's hands finally drop from L's shoulders. Yet again, he has nothing left to say in response.

L stretches, rolling his shoulders, habitually unbuttoned collar exposing the reddened marks of Light's thumbs on either side of his neck. "Sorry," Light whispers.

L considers this for a moment. His eyes light up as he slips his loosely-laced shoes off his feet, kicking them into a corner. Light's jaw drops. "Wha-"

"I thought Kira-kun felt sorry?" L says innocently, peeling his socks off and wiggling his sweaty, unwashed toes in Light's general direction.

_That manipulative asshole,_ Light thinks admiringly, pretending not to notice the surge of relief suffusing his system. "So much for all those lectures about wasting money."

"Kira-kun is the one who needs lessons on waste, considering the massive waste of oxygen he represents," L says brightly.

This time, Light's smile as their bickering reaches its usual crescendo is genuine.

***

"So you don't usually empty out the drop safe at least once a week?" Thankfully, Light's never had to work a retail job in his life, but he's listened sympathetically to enough stories to have a general idea of what to expect.

"We do!" the hotel restaurant manager protests, wiping the sweat from his reddened face with a tissue. He shakes his head, clearing his throat. "I'm sorry, I should have started there. I've been sick for the past few days with some, er, digestive issues. The assistant manager took care of depositing money into the safe in my stead, but I was insistent on being the one to transfer the cash to the bank when I returned." He buries his head in his hands. "Now I'm really sunk..."

"The safe is a smart-key system, I see," L calls from the manager's office. Light can picture the looks on the employees' faces as they watch him slouch around the open safe door, barefoot and shaggy-haired. "How many people have key-and-PIN sets?"

The manager shuffles nervously, more trickles of sweat running down his face. "Uh....well, it's...just me, actually."

"Just you?" Light says sharply. "Not even the assistant manager? Or the owner?"

"Oh, the owner," the manager says, suddenly relieved. "Well, of course she does. But she rarely ever comes to this location, if at all." He droops again, his lifeline gone. "And besides, she wouldn't need to steal this money. I...I don't suppose it could have been taken before I came back, somehow? Perhaps it was never there in the first place?"

"There was no cash at all in the safe when you opened it," L says simply.

"Which, since your assistant manager had an employee accompanying her on at least one occasion where she deposited money in the safe through the drop slot - and since she made a deposit today while accompanied by a different employee as well, the lack of any money indicates that the robbery took place between 4:30 PM - the time of the first drop - and 11:00 PM, the time of the second drop and opening of the safe, as suggested earlier," Light translates.

"Who had access to the office during that time?" L emerges from the back looking even worse than Light could possibly have imagined, corn starch dusted liberally over his forearms and several pieces of tape stuck to a dark baking sheet in his hands.

The manager gapes at L until Light gives him a stern look. "The assistant managers, Leanne and Tony, and I all have keys to the office. It's usually locked if nobody's in it..."

"Usually? Is there any way to make sure?" The manager shakes his head glumly, and Light sighs internally. "Do you have ink lying around, by any chance?"

"Ink?" The manager blinks. "We...we have some squid ink for pasta..."

"Perfect," Light says as L heads towards the kitchen. He considers warning the manager to hide any pastries they may have lying around, but he figures he'd probably consider it a small price to pay in return for solving his problems. 

The man opposite him wipes his forehead again. "Your colleague is certainly...unique."

"He deserves his reputation as the world's three greatest detectives," Light says, bristling. If anyone's going to insult L, it should be on reasonable grounds. Seeing the manager's less-than-convinced expression, he clarifies. "I can vouch for him."

"Oh. Well, that's all right, I suppose."

"Right." Light looks around at their surroundings. The amount of money taken was hardly insignificant, and would surely have been conspicuous if carried out. The manager's office has no windows, and the only point of egress involves walking through the main restaurant area itself, past two supposed security cameras - which, to his extreme irritation, have been revealed to just be decoys - and past whoever happened to be present. "Can you provide me with a list of the staff members who were present today between 4:30 and 11:00 PM?"

"Sure." On safer ground, the manager agrees quickly, pulling a notepad out of his pocket and scribbling several names down. As Light scans the list, he notes that Leanne's name is on it. He hears a yelp, and looks up to see L cramming an ornamental cupcake into his mouth with one hand while snatching the pen from the manager's right hand with the other and dipping his fingers in a small bowl of squid ink. Pressing the man's fingertips to a white piece of cardboard, L hums, satisfied.

Light cranes his neck to get a better look. "It's a match?"

L points at the index finger prints on the cardboard and clear tape. "A relatively cursory inspection reveals sixteen points of similarity between these prints."

Light nods. "So his story matches up, so far. The scarceness of prints on the keypad indicates that everything was wiped down thoroughly before the manager touched the safe again to open it."

"Hmmm," L says agreeably. "Although considering that he is the only suspect present who had a key and PIN, the circumstantial evidence seems rather unfortunate for him."

"Uh, well, about that..."

Light sighs, out loud this time. He has long since stopped underestimating the stupidity of other people. "You left the key somewhere, didn't you?"

The man nods miserably. "I didn't think it was safe to carry it around with me, so I locked it in my desk drawer before I went home sick."

"The same style of desk as the one in the front of the restaurant, I see," L notes. "So every employee with access to the front desk would technically be able to unlock that drawer."

"But...but they'd have to unlock the office first!" the manager protests feebly.

"And they'd have to know the PIN. Unless you told someone. Or-" _No. Surely there is a limit to human stupidity._

"The password changes every week," the man moans. "How was I supposed to remember?"

Light pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. "He left it in the same desk drawer, didn't he."

"A different drawer, on a brightly colored Post-it note, actually!" L says brightly. "Very security-minded of him."

Light folds his arms. "So we're back where we started."

With a shrug, L saunters off towards the office again. "We should interview the other employees, Kira-kun."

"Right." Light turns towards the manager. "Don't go anywhere."

The manager shoots a despairing look towards the intimidatingly built thug lounging in the doorway. "I...I don't think I can..."

"Good man." Light claps him on the back and heads over to join L, who is happily swiveling around while crouched on an overlarge office chair, toes curled around the edge of the seat. "Can you at least pretend to be professional about this?"

L drapes his head over the back of the chair, swiveling faster. "Why?"

Light opens his mouth, then, picking his battles, closes it again. "Why does our esteemed employer have _goons?_ " he counters.

"I think the goons are probably held in higher estimation than our employer," L muses. Light lets this go as well, because he is a mature adult who will retaliate in a completely reasonable fashion. Probably by hiding L's chocolate cake in an abandoned guest room when he isn't looking.

"We should probably begin by interviewing Leanne Johnson."

"I already spoke to her while I was examining the safe," L says, still spinning. Light adds 'improbably strong stomach' to the list of things he hates about him. "The interview was very...informative."

L obviously wants him to ask for details, so he does the exact opposite. "We should talk to the two employees who accompanied her on cash drop days." He consults the list the manager gave him. "Sam Gupta, a waitress, was with her earlier in the week, and Antoine Garneau, the head chef, was with her during today's drop."

"What about the other assistant manager, Tony?"

"Backpacking in Scotland for two weeks, apparently. He'd scheduled the vacation several months in advance."

"Hmmm." L abruptly brings the chair to a halt. "In that case, I am eighty-five percent sure of the culprit's identity."

"Eighty-five-" Light stiffens. There is no way he's letting this childish, infuriating idiot solve anything before he does.

L ambles over to the doorway. "We should still interview the others to make sure, though. After all, it is very important to be certain."

Light's eyes narrow to thin slits as L's trap snaps shut around his leg. If he disagrees, L will pounce on the statement immediately as proof of Kira's fallibility. And if he agrees, L will probably rub in his victory in solving the case until what could very possibly be the end of time. He has a terrible suspicion that Mu isn't going to be on the menu any time soon.

And there's no way he'll lose to L in this unlife, either.

***

About an hour later, they've cobbled together a rough timeline of events. Or, rather, Light has industriously compiled a summary of the witness statements and cross-referenced them with each other, while L has hunched over even further, long fingers steepled in front of him, and nodded in a smugly confirmatory fashion at almost every statement the witnesses have made. It's been steadily driving Light crazier and crazier with each passing second, as if L was lurking behind him and whispering each rising percentage point in his ear.

Hurriedly, he scans the list one more time. Leanne's story is corroborated by both Sam and Antoine, meaning that there was indeed money deposited into the safe at 4:30 PM. 

So. His finger idly traces the schedule.

4:28 PM. Leanne bumps into Antoine, who is bringing in a purchase of fresh fish for the evening's seafood special. They go to the office together and exit approximately three minutes later, after Leanne performs the drop. A server remembers seeing Leanne placing the empty money bag back into the front desk drawer around 4:35.

4:30 PM to 5:45 PM. Preparation for the dinner rush. Tam Green, a server, remembers a particularly demanding couple being seated in a corner closest to the office and repeatedly requesting free breadstick refills. They keep him occupied from 4:35 to 5:45, a fact which Tam recalls in vivid detail and with a simmering resentment that puts even Light and L's rivalry to shame. During this time, it is highly unlikely that anyone could enter and exit the manager's office without being noticed by Tam, who keeps his gimlet gaze firmly fixed on the table. (If he had another Death Note to share, Light would seriously consider this man as a candidate for another Kira.)

5:50 PM to 8:00 PM. The manager comes in to work after his long absence. To deal with the number of minor disagreements that have blossomed into full-grown feuds in the week he's been gone, he leaves his office door open while he reviews the paperwork Leanne's compiled for him until shortly after 8:00 PM. Although Light suspects he is less than completely attentive during this period, even _he_ would have noticed someone entering the room and stealing the cash from the safe. And, considering that the door was wide open, someone would surely have noticed the manager doing so as well.

8:00 PM to 8:05 PM. The manager intends to review the stock kept in the walk-in freezer, but Antoine turns out to have kept up-to-date lists in his absence. He happily retreats back to the warmth of his office. He remembers locking the door when he left and unlocking it when he re-entered.

8:05 PM to 10:55 PM. The manager sequesters himself in his office in order to address customer complaints. Nobody sees him exit until 10:55 PM, when the last customer is on their way out and he emerges to retrieve the evening's profits (these, at least, have been accounted for). The rest - from when he was observed re-entering the office by Leanne, Tam, and several others to when he emerged in panic, a scarce minute later, he already knows.

He considers the facts one more time. The office has been thoroughly searched, and no trace of the money has been found, which makes it unlikely that the manager was able to conceal the money after 8:00, even if he was alone.

There's just one more question left to ask. He leans out of the office door, waving the manager over. "What were you doing when you first felt ill?"

The manager shakes his head, bewildered. "Nothing special. It must have been some sort of stomach flu. I guess we're lucky nobody else at the restaurant caught it."

"What did you eat that day?"

"I brought leftovers from home for lunch. My wife ate them too." 

Hmm. "So you didn't eat anything from the restaurant, then?" Light prompts.

He looks somewhat guilty. "Well, I really shouldn't have - I'm on a diet - but Antoine dropped by my office with a slice of cherry cheesecake that he was planning to put on the menu. I was just doing my duty as a good manager-"

"Yes, thank you." Light waves distractedly at him as he heads into the kitchen. Behind him, he can hear L hopping off the chair to lurk eagerly behind him.

"Has Kira-kun finally got it? I was beginning to get bored."

Light gives him his best insincere smile. "I simply had to be _sure_ , L. I'm sure you understand."

L pats him condescendingly on the shoulder. "I was sure fifty-two minutes ago, but it is quite all right. I understand if Kira-kun has lost his edge after acting as a blunt instrument for so long."

"I have not lost my edge," Light snaps. "If you had just shared the information you had up-front like a normal person, I would have-"

"If you had opened your mouth and asked for it like a normal person instead of retreating to your delusions of grandeur, you might have come to the conclusion a little sooner, yes."

_Murder is bad. Murder is bad. Murder is bad._ The reminder doesn't help with calming him down. _There are witnesses._ That, at least, does help a little.

Light stalks towards the walk-in freezer, throwing the door open and refusing to shiver in the slightest at the wall of cold that hits him. L helpfully holds the door open, making no move whatsoever to join him inside.

"The goons found nothing out of place, Kira-kun," he says slyly.

"That's because what we're looking for is in place," he says triumphantly, looking around for an appropriately sized cooler.

"It should be behind several other storage boxes," L calls. "Try the frozen greens for the spinach puffs - they're off the rotating specials menu for at least another week."

Light digs around, pulling out several containers before he finds a decidedly fishy-smelling and fishy-looking one. Triumphantly, he pulls the lid off to reveal that it is packed to the brim with cash. "Looks like we did it," he says. Surprisingly, L doesn't counter with some sort of jab at him.

"It seems like we did."

Emboldened by this temporary truce, Light emerges from the freezer, doing his best not to shiver. "I assume that Leanne was obviously lying when you questioned her?"

"She was very smooth, actually," L says approvingly. "Everything that she said was technically true. She merely left out the part where she opened the safe and stood guard inside the door instead of performing the second drop, while Antoine donned his kitchen gloves and shoveled all of the cash in the safe into his empty fish container."

"So what tipped you off?"

"The inventory sheets in the manager's office indicated that they have purchased their fresh fish from Billingsgate Market for the past several years. It closes well before 10 AM. Therefore, Antoine could not have simply stepped out to retrieve the fish. And even if he had, by some extreme coincidence, deviated from that pattern on the same day of a major theft, why did he fail to log that purchase in the detailed inventory sheet he provided the manager, while he made sure to log the 5:15 PM caviar delivery?"

Light scowls. "So you depended on outside knowledge to solve the case."

"I simply used all the tools at my disposal, Kira-kun." At Light's growl, he shrugs. "And you used logic and deduction. Leanne and Antoine were observed entering the office with money in a bag and leaving with an empty bag. They claim that this barely took any time, but in reality, Leanne was not confirmed as having emerged until a good seven minutes had passed. If they were innocent, there is no feasible time period during which anyone could have gotten away with removing the money after the drop. As the money was not in the office, it follows that they were not innocent after all. Oh, and Antoine's food poisoning of the manager would have given Leanne the time to make a duplicate safe key as an extra precaution." L tilts his head. "Shall I continue?"

"No, your unnecessary exposition was quite illuminating," Light says sarcastically. He stares at the thugs filling the doorway. "Something tells me that our employer isn't planning on calling the police."

L sighs. "Alas, the life of a restaurateur being used as a front for money laundering and massive tax evasion is fraught with difficulty." He lowers his voice. "Of course, if the police receive an anonymous tip-off covering their probable disposal route-" Light feels a piece of paper being gently pushed into his hand. "-how can we be blamed for it?"

"There's a payphone near the convenience store," Light says. "I'll take care of it while you inform the thugs." When L doesn't protest, he heads towards the door, brushing against Antoine on his way. "The money's in the freezer," he says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder as he approaches the goon squad. He hears a loud thud behind him - probably Antoine - as the goons rush forward, but he's already moving out the door. Light doesn't look back.

***

Light ducks away from the payphone, crumpling the piece of paper in his hand. The dispatcher certainly sounded convinced - he's done as much as he could. He casually lets the incriminating note fall into a nearby sewer grate as he heads into the convenience store. He might as well kill two birds with one stone. He and L desperately need shampoo.

Afterward, he leans against the wall of the alleyway behind the store, looking from side to side before pulling out the cellphone he'd palmed from Antoine's pocket as he passed him. One way or another, Antoine won't need it, where he and Leanne are going. And Light has quite a lot of numbers to dial.

Teru Mikami's number is disconnected. So are those of the Yotsuba Group, Aizawa, several girls he remembers casually dating in school, and Kyosuke Higuchi. Mogi's phone number appears to now be that of a sushi restaurant, while the sultry woman on the other end of Matsuda's phone number certainly doesn't sound even remotely like anyone that Matsuda would realistically be acquainted with, let alone date. (She doesn't seem to know him, either, when he asks about him. After all, it's good to make sure.)

He calls the numbers of almost everyone he once knew off by heart. He Googles his enemies and acquaintances, too, but nobody - from Raye Penber to John McEnroe - seems to have any sort of digital footprint. Reluctantly, he tries Misa's numbers - work, cell, home - as well, but he can't seem to find her, either. And, at last, when he's exhausted all other possibilities, he dials the Yagami household; rests his forehead against the filthy brick wall as he listens to the dial tone.

_"The number you have reached is not in service-"_

Cellphones. Sayu's. Mother's. Father's. The same result.

For once, Kira isn't stirring behind his eyes, but he's shaking anyways, knuckles slowly whitening around the plastic bag in his fist. He manages to walk steadily enough, though, sending the useless phone down the storm drain to join the note that might have saved two criminals' lives, lying somewhere amidst the muck of a million souls.

When he returns to their room, he fends off L's unspoken curiosity by using the shopping bag as a shield. "Their shampoo selection is _horrendous,_ " he says. "If this low-quality slop is what you usually wash with, it's no wonder your hair always looks like that."

"It is a pity that Kira-kun's standards of morality are not even half as exacting-"

The back-and-forth flows from his throat as naturally as breathing. Light leans back on his bed, eyes half-lidded, and lets the familiar banter wash the despair from his skin until he can at last delude himself into forgetting what he's done and denying what he will inevitably do.

And, for the first time in a long time, he wishes he could blame things on Kira rather than on his own self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little overdue! I knew how I wanted it to go, but I struggled with the exact phrasing for a while until I found a result that finally made sense. It's quite a bit longer than usual, to make up for the delay. Hopefully we'll be back to our regular(ish)ly scheduled updates soon!


	5. Sleep Now In The Fire

The sun is shining. His shirt is neatly pressed. His sandwich isn't completely terrible.

By the exceedingly lax standards of his unlife, it's almost idyllic. _Or rather, it would have been,_ Light thinks with a scowl, _if his colleague had been a normal person._

Half of L's body is contorted over the back of the bench they are sitting on, his bare feet surrounded by empty cookie wrappers and creating an audible crinkling noise every single time he so much as twitches. Which is infuriatingly often. And, even though Light should be used to it by now, the movement is loud enough to jolt him from his thoughts every single time. Unbelievable, thirty seconds finally manage to pass without incident as the detective stays perfectly still. Light, back ramrod straight and doing his best to pretend he doesn't know L, neatly folds his sandwich wrapper and tucks it into his pocket to wait for the next dustbin. Perhaps L has finally given up on whatever irritating ploy he's concocted this time-

 _Crunch._ Light snaps his head up from his contemplation, nearly smashing his forehead into L's as the detective moves back from his ear, eyes wide and innocent, an enormous cookie stuffed into his mouth. He tries to edge away from him, but only succeeds in almost falling off the bench.

"Kira-kun-"

"Yes, yes, 'Kira-kun startles easily,' I _know,_ " Light snaps. "If you're going to torment me, at least come up with something original."

"Why would I do that?" L tilts his head in affected curiosity, spraying crumbs everywhere.

Light narrows his eyes, sweeping bits of cookie off his shoulder and back at L's face. He shudders in horror as L sticks out his tongue, snapping several crumbs from the air back into his mouth with dexterity that would put a frog to shame. "You do realize that these childish tricks reflect poorly on you as well, yes?"

"Is Kira-kun telling me that I should increase the severity of my 'torments', as he so terms my attempts at self-expression?"

"Self-" Light begins indignantly, then stops himself. "No, of course. You choose to express yourself as a disgusting pest. That makes perfect sense." He extends his arm out, grandiloquence and sarcasm merging in one fell swoop. "Please, carry on."

"Kira-kun's priorities are truly distorted," L says, shaking his head in mock sadness. "We have shuffled off this mortal coil - that means we're dead, by the way-"

 _"I know what it means,"_ Light hisses.

L hums noncommittally. "We are dead, and Kira-kun's only concern appears to be whether his hair looks better parted on the left or the right."

"It's neither, as you would know if you had even basic standards!"

"I rest my case," L says, spreading his hands.

Light scowls. "In case you're too self-absorbed to notice, we're stuck in close proximity for the foreseeable future. I will _not_ suffer through your lack of hygiene yet again-"

"We are not stuck together," L says mildly.

"Oh, really?" Voice dripping with sarcasm, Light gestures around them. "What do you call this, then?"

"I call it London," L shrugs.

"Oh, you really _are_ a genius. If there was anyone else on this entire bloody planet-" Light cuts himself off, mouth snapping shut with an audible click.

L's eyes glimmer with satisfaction. "I see that Kira-kun has finally tried to contact his extensive network of hangers-on. Or is it 'hanger-ons?'"

"Don't act like you didn't already know," Light says wearily. "The shampoo was a weak enough excuse that I would have been disappointed to have a nemesis who could be fooled by it."

"Ah, but I knew from the start. I called your relatives and acquaintances while I was dialing my own."

Light's hands spasm into a convulsive strangling movement. He disguises it as a stretch. "You stalker," he accuses, keeping his voice steady.

"You say that as if it's a bad thing." L blinks at him. "But we have digressed from the point. You _could_ simply go elsewhere, you know."

Light stares at him. _I...never even thought of that. Why?_ He immediately dismisses the thought as irrelevant. "It is obvious that there is some reason why I have been forced to endure your presence again. Some sort of cosmic folly, or punishment-"

L snorts rudely. "Does Kira-kun not find it ironic that a man with such overwhelming delusions of godhood seems to perceive himself as deserving of divine punishment?"

"My apologies. There is absolutely nothing divine about you."

"And yet you persist with your delusions!" L leans forward. "Kira-kun, have you considered that you might be _my_ punishment?"

He can't help himself. A disbelieving laugh escapes from his throat. "That is the most absurd statement I have ever heard, and that includes Matsuda's whining-"

"Oh, yes," L says with an exaggerated roll of his eyes that would put any moody teenager to shame. "I forgot that everyone should be _delighted_ at the privilege of being in the presence of the amazing Light Yagami." He pitches his voice into a disturbingly fawning simper, even though his words hardly match the tone. "I can't believe it! It's really the world's most egotistical, pompous, obsessive drama queen of a sociopath! Won't you sign my shirt? I promise I'll never wash it!"

"It's not like you'd ever wash it anyways, that doesn't count," Light snaps. "For the record, _I_ find it rather sad that you're treating the fact that I actually have friends as a bad thing. Try not to be jealous just because you don't have any."

"You did not have 'friends', you had sycophants," L says promptly. "Besides, friendship is overrated. Between the two of us, we have a 100% rate of being killed by our friends."

"Matsuda wasn't my _friend,"_ he counters, folding his arms. 

L merely flashes an enigmatic smile. "Indeed."

"Anyways, if you seriously think I'm your punishment, why don't _you_ leave?"

L raises his eyebrows. "Why would I leave? London is _my_ place. If anyone should leave, it's you."

"'Your' place?" he says indignantly. "You have the nerve to call me an egomaniac when you're claiming an entire city as your territory?"

"I happen to actually have lived in London. What is your excuse for staying, Kira-kun? Are the hair-care products better here?"

"Well, I'm certainly not staying for _you_ ," he hisses.

L leans forward, the very picture of attentiveness. "Oh, this should be good."

Stiffly, Light stands from the bench, drawing himself up with all of the offended dignity he can bring to bear as he looms threateningly over the idiot. (The beauty of the tableau is somewhat spoiled by L's ongoing and futile attempts to fit two cookies in his mouth at once, but he consoles himself with the thought that they could hypothetically be concealing an expression of true panic. There is, perhaps, a 0.000027% chance of that.)

"You," he begins, voice wintry cold as he deploys the greatest weapon he has, "mishandled the Barr case."

For once, L's slow blink isn't just a mockery. "Go on."

Light's blood sings with searing flame; the taste of vindication lies sweet and heavy on his tongue. All those hours spent obsessively poring over L's case files haven't gone to waste. "Your attempt at coercion was too heavy-handed," he drawls, savoring every word. "She concealed it well, but Linda Barr was clearly maintaining a criminal network that extended far beyond the assassination branch you apprehended. Even if the alterations in the behavioral and financial patterns of known gangs and middlemen involved in drug dealing after the incident weren't enough, her involvement was obvious enough when reading between the lines of the original case.

"But _you_ , L...you broke her will, of course, pushing and pushing until you got the result you wanted. And yet I made some discreet inquiries after I took over the title of L. It turns out that everything she gave you was to shield her sister - who was involved in the drug branch, by the way - from prosecution. If you had simply bothered to look at Linda as a human, rather than as a toy, you would have offered her sister immunity in exchange for her testimony and dismantled the entire operation in one fell swoop."

"Have you considered that it was hardly my job to create a drug lord power vacuum?" L counters, resting his chin in his hands. "The particular skillsets of those assassins were irreplaceable. Given the admittedly impressive consolidated power structure the Barr woman had created, her rivals would have been more likely to squabble over the remains of the drug empire rather than rebuild such a specialized network from the ground up."

Light considers this for a millisecond. L's tone contains only boredom, but his explanation is uncharacteristically long-winded. "I have a different explanation," he says.

"Kira-kun is very fond of abusing the limits of plausibility with his 'different explanations'-"

"I think you are unable to comprehend basic human emotions. Barely being classifiable as a person yourself, it's understandable-"

"Does considering every other human on the planet as unable to grasp basic facts such as the timings of your initial killings count as being 'unable to comprehend basic human emotions?' Or is that simply an unjustified superiority complex?"

"Does being overconfident enough to allow your prime Kira suspects access to an obviously compromised _shinigami_ count as an 'unjustified superiority complex?'"

"Does murdering a woman for the terrible crime of trying to get justice for her murdered fiance count as 'superiority', or just hypocrisy?"

Light itches to grab L by his shirt and drag him out of that horrendously casual slouch, but settles for leaning even further towards him instead. He wants to see the look in L's eyes when he drives in the killing blow. "You just don't want to admit that, for all of your moral posturing, we're exactly the same. All you care about is winning, no matter who gets hurt along the way." Even though the vicious grin spreading across his face is Kira's, this time it's entirely of his own volition. "But I suppose we can't always get what we _want_ , can we?"

"Obviously not, Kira-kun," L says, voice dry. "After all, if I wanted a bitch, I'd get a dog."

Light's jaw drops in a most undignified manner, a strange noise bubbling in his throat. He presses the back of one hand to his mouth, staggering backward, but can't entirely stifle the astonished snicker that escapes from him. Or the subsequent laugh. Or the next, or the next after _that_ , until he's practically howling with laughter, doubled over, clutching his stomach in a desperate attempt to control himself. It almost works, until he catches sight of L on the bench, shaking with convulsive barks of laughter as the mop of hair on his head sways in ten different directions, and the hilarity strikes him all over again.

When he finally manages to recover, he collapses back onto the bench beside a still-chuckling L, trying and failing to catch his breath. "I can't believe you just said that," he wheezes.

"I am full of pleasant little surprises," L says in a deadpan, eliciting another choked wheeze from Light. He looks around, trying to see if any passers-by have taken note of the spectacle they're making, but it seems as if they've already politely tutted and moved on. Or as if they're pretending they don't notice. Or as if-

"Shall we play a game, Kira-kun?"

"We're not playing truth or dare again," he replies immediately.

"That would be utterly pointless, Kira-kun," L says dolefully. "You never told the truth about being Kira, after all."

"I literally couldn't remember!" he protests, eyes narrowing as he remembers those interminable days after being released from solitary confinement and sent straight into the insane asylum of L's constant presence. "Besides, you never did the dares properly either."

"As I recall, Kira-kun, you repeatedly dared me to jump out a window-"

"If you don't respect the rules of the game, you can hardly chastise me for an error-"

"You do realize that we were chained together," L points out. "I would have taken you with me right out the window."

"It would have been a welcome escape from your idiotic chattering."

"Hmm. A Reichenbach Falls maneuver," L muses. "I suppose it does have something of a poetic aspect to it, if you happen to be a complete idiot."

Light folds his arms, smirking. "Or if you know your nemesis is far too obsessed with juvenile taunts to ever risk ending the game early."

L tilts his head. "You see, Kira-kun, but you do not observe."

"Oh, please." Light rolls his eyes. "I survived, remember? That makes _me_ Sherlock Holmes. _You_ are Moriarty."

"Only one of us is a murderous supervillain with a criminal network of other murderers," L says affably. "But I digress. We have been in this...'differently alive'...state for several days, and have not yet compiled our observations. Have you considered that my actions have a purpose?"

Light's eyes narrow to pinpricks. There's simply no way. "You're having me on."

L courteously shoves the discarded sweet wrappers to the other side of the bench with a sweep of his arm. "I suspect your closed-mindedness eventually lay behind your ultimate downfall, Kira-kun."

He glares at L for several seconds, but eventually gives up as L's focus shifts towards a critical examination of the half-melted strawberry candy he's pulled from his pocket. Light truly has no desire whatsoever to watch him critically flick pieces of lint from its horrifically sticky surface until the ratio of denim to candy reaches acceptable levels. Sourly, he faces the growing realization that if he _doesn't_ do it, he might lose another key piece of evidence, as he had with Leanne's testimony in yesterday's case.

_And if L truly has managed to find some clue as to why they are here..._

Refusing to give L the satisfaction of meeting his eyes, he stalks over to the spot where the other had been sitting. Gingerly, he kneels on the bench, peering over its top. His pulse quickens as he catches sight of a thin line of hieroglyphics scrawled near the bottom slat of the back. He pushes himself up with his arms, craning his neck so he can get a better look. _Rudimentary, but if the repeating lightning symbol is some sort of identifying mark...and if these words are sounded out..._

He twists himself around, glaring at L. "'Lightning was here?' When will you stop with these stupid, childish tricks?"

A small smile dances on L's lips for a moment. "When they stop working." At the murderous look growing in Light's eyes, he simply blinks innocently. "Shall we compare our actual observations, then?"

"Sure, I'll go first," Light says venomously. "If hell really is other people, I'm sitting right across from it."

L makes a clucking noise with his tongue. "That is more of a supposition than an observation, Kira-kun. I shall begin in your stead. Although those who we have had direct personal contact with appear to be absent in this place, at least some people with whom we have no direct connection or extremely fleeting acquaintances are present."

Light sits up straighter. "Such as?"

L merely raises his eyebrows, and Light sighs. "The hotel concierge is someone with whom you have no direct connection, but who you've heard of through a third party."

"Oh, well done, Kira-kun," L says, throwing in a round of sarcastic applause. "That counts as part of my observation, however. You need another one."

"The buildings," he says promptly, details filling in as he thinks about them. "Buildings with direct, strong emotional connections - the task force building, Wammy's House-" _My house,_ he thinks, but doesn't say it. "-seem to be absent as well. However, buildings that we have passing familiarity with, even if we've been inside them - the NHN building, for example - are still present." He frowns, considering. "Have you ever been to the Winged Victoria Hotel during your lifetime?"

"No," L says.

"It's still something of a landmark, or public building, I suppose." He taps his lips with one finger. "You lived in London. How about ordinary streets? Do regular buildings, or houses and apartments, look the same?"

"Does that count as my observation, Kira-kun?" L says slyly.

"If you want it to," he smirks, and L waves his hand dismissively.

"Hardly. In response to your question, street layouts, houses, apartment blocks, and even storefronts are completely consistent with my memories."

"Any anomalies?"

"I did say 'completely consistent,'" L reminds him.

"Although much of the city remains unexamined," Light muses. "Not to mention the areas beyond the city limits."

"Something to remedy," L agrees with a nod. "Very well, my turn. The people around us seem curiously unobservant. With the exception of that one suspicious backpacker, even the most outlandish explanations have not merited much more than cursory puzzlement and subsequent acceptance. Even our semi-crazed humorous breakdown barely elicited a stare or two before the passers-by hurried on."

"Oh, good," Light sneers, although he's a little pleased to have L confirm the observation that has been nagging at him since they arrived. "I was beginning to think that the stupidity we've been surrounded with was rather excessive, even for my superiority complex."

"Mine as well, Kira-kun," L says, patting him condescendingly on the head. "The backpacker, Mark, may be an interesting lead to follow up on. For now, shall we move on?"

So. He must state something that can provide a concrete lead to follow up on. "As far as I can tell," he says, choosing his words carefully, "nobody else seems to be aware that they - or we - are dead."

L nods. "I concur, although I must admit that my inquiries have been subtle." Light does his best to repress his scoff. "As a lead, we may then ask people bluntly if they remember dying. It will address two of our observations with one impertinent question."

Light considers debating the wisdom of this; considers as well the fact that L evidently thinks it suitable as a lead, and graciously cedes his turn instead. "Agreed. Next?"

"There are no children here," L says simply. Light's never liked children - he has no use for them - but he can't help but feel a chill run up his spine at L's words. Perhaps he could have deluded himself into believing that this was some sort of ordinary alternate universe instead of an unlife. But with that statement put into words, it makes the 'unlife' hypothesis far more likely.

"Fine. Ask people about their children." Light grits his teeth. It's a boring topic of conversation, but at least people are more likely to gush on and on about their offspring than to reflect on the gloomy subject of their own mortality. He has to come up with _something_ \- there is no way he'll allow L to get the last word in for this duel. He draws out the words as much as he can, biding his time as he searches through the least obvious statements he could make. "I believe that-"

He stops in mid-sentence, eyes widening as he spots a man familiar gray suit striding rapidly through the park, briefcase dangling from one hand, his long black hair brushing the back of his neck.

_Mikami._

On one hand, he's completely crazy. On the other hand, L is crazy too, and Mikami is far less likely to drive him to homicide. Or far more likely, rather, if he has the Death Note with him. Either way, it's a win.

He jumps off the bench, vaguely registering L's light hops as he follows him, and dashes forward, long strides quickening until he is close enough to tap Mikami on the shoulder. "Teru, it is I-"

Once again, the words die on his lips as the man turns around, eyebrows raised, revealing his wide features and startling green eyes. "Can I help you?"

"I'm sorry," Light says automatically, flashing him a disarming smile. Internally, his mind is racing as he scans the man's appearance. Now that he's closer, he notices the myriad differences between him and Mikami - this man is a fraction shorter, his shoulders less wide; the shade of his skin is darker than Mikami's vampiric paleness, and the way he carries himself is somewhat different. But he could have sworn just a few moments ago that the resemblance was perfect. Could desperation have driven him to misidentify this man? "You reminded me of a friend of mine. Once again, I am terribly sorry to bother you."

"No trouble," the man says agreeably, the suspicion in his eyes fading. He turns to walk away.

"Excuse me," L calls out to him. "Do you remember dying, by any chance?"

Light resists the urge to bury his face in his hands.

"Dying?!" The man's skin pales to Mikami's characteristic tint. "Uh. No?" His eyes grow wary again. "Is this some sort of prank?"

"Yes," L says in an unconvincing monotone. "This is a prank." And, just as the man finally nods in acceptance - "Do you have any children?"

"All right, this is getting weird," the man mutters, then turns and speedwalks off.

"Evidently, the lack of concern of the natives has some limits," L notes. Light just sighs, hoping to wordlessly convey the full force of his disappointment without further social embarrassment. Although...

"You know," he says, a touch of glee creeping onto his features, "this lack of awareness might come in handy. If we were to have an all-out brawl in the middle of the park, what do you think it would take for them to notice?"

"I could rip your shirt," L points out. " _All_ your shirts."

Light scowls. "I could throw away your sweets. _All_ your sweets."

"I could buy more sweets."

"I could buy more shirts."

"Not if you lose your job for not wearing a shirt."

"Perhaps they wouldn't notice."

"Would you like to test that theory, Kira-kun?"

They bicker and plot all the way back to the hotel. Light knows that this temporary camaraderie can't last. But some traitorous part of him enjoys finally having a challenge once more.

And so, another night in Light's probable hell passes more-or-less without incident. A couple more petty burglaries. One incident in which a customer attempts to leave the hotel without paying. Another in which a persistent telemarketing scam keeps calling the front desk, but that is easily dealt with by simply giving the phone to L and letting him eagerly lecture the culprit about his dietary habits for a full minute. Light swears he can hear _weeping_ on the other end of the line by the time the telemarketer hangs up.

It is only as he collapses into bed, exhausted, that he realizes he hasn't felt Kira's presence for the entire day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plenty of bickering, and a bit of plot progression buried somewhere in there! Next week: Light and L attempt to co-operate to test their hypotheses while dealing with another mini-mystery. It goes about as well as you would expect.
> 
> I've also noticed that I did a much better job of sticking to my update schedule before I actually posted said schedule. I've removed it from the description, but hopefully I'll be better at continuing with regular-ish updates from now on!


	6. Through the Fire and Flames

Kira dreams that he is Light Yagami.

In his dream, his tie is red, his eyes are brown; the grain of the dining table swirls beneath his fingers as he splays his hands across the wood. Beside him, Sayu throws her head back dramatically as she moans about a particularly stubborn algebraic problem in her homework. His mother smiles benevolently at them - at _both_ of them - as she carefully portions out dinner onto each of their plates.

In his dream, nobody else knows that he is Kira. Misa, who would have made mistakes, is gone. L, who would have caught those mistakes, is dead by his hand.

Light is content with this state of affairs. Or perhaps he is a brittle statue, a framework of lies stretched paper-thin and bone-white over a sea of roaring flame, fully aware that every second he spends in idyllic contentment represents a wasted life spilling its blood over his hands, screaming in silent condemnation as he smiles and nods and praises his mother's cooking.

Who knows?

Light certainly doesn't know. In _his_ dream, the colors of his family home languidly invert and revert again, over and over; he hovers over his own shoulder as Kira's hot breath whispers sibilantly in his ear, one shockingly cold hand leaching the warmth from his lower back.

_"Is this what we want?"_

Light drinks in the adoring look on the face of his mother. The corner of his mouth twitches slightly upward as Sayu claps her hands in excitement as his other self patiently explains the theorem, her heels - mobile once more - drumming against the floor to punctuate each delighted squeal. He walks around the scene slowly, Kira floating behind him, until he can lean forward to properly study his other self's eyes.

They are blank and lifeless, utterly devoid of both contempt and love. Light sucks in his breath. For a moment, he visualizes the person in the chair - neither him nor Kira - as an automaton, a mere input/output machine. Mechanically, its fingers will write name after name in tiny, cramped rows, feeling nothing but tedium and a vague sense of duty, unable to comprehend Light and Kira's ideals of justice.

It is what he might have become, perhaps, if deprived of sufficient challenges.

_"Is this what we want?"_

Light lowers his head, shoulders shaking. He chose to sacrifice this non-existence once, no matter how much it should have hurt. He can do it again. "No."

The three figures around the table look up at a sudden sound from the entryway. Sayu's eyes brighten even further. "Dad!"

Light flinches. He tries to move back, look away, but cold fingers dig into the underside of his chin, wrapping around his cheekbones. _"Look,"_ Kira hisses, wrenching his face to the side.

Light looks, and a rush of relief distracts him from the grip of Kira's hands. The man who has entered the house is not his father. Sure, he may _look_ like him. But Soichiro Yagami's face has never been so unlined. His face has never held a smile untinged by the despair of his work, let alone the carefree grin on this man's face. And the demands of his position have always ensured that he is rarely home in time for dinner. Especially if Kira is active in his dream, his presence is a logical impossibility.

Light looks, and concentrates on breathing, and tries desperately to unclench the fist tightening around his heart.

"I'm home!" the man announces brightly, loosening his tie.

"Welcome back!" the three of them chorus.

"How was your day, dear?" His mother rises from the table, moving towards the kitchen to bring an extra place setting.

"Calm, as usual." The man hums with pleasure as he drops into his chair, resting his forearms on the table. "Ever since Kira, crime rates have dropped precipitously," he continues, eyes twinkling. "I may be out of a job soon."

"I am sure that there will always be work for the police," Light's dream-self says neutrally, although his eyes flicker upward to briefly observe the man's reaction before lowering once more, satisfied.

"Well, yes, of course." The man leans back, loosening his tie. "People are people, after all. There will always be cases of vandalism, traffic violations, the occasional petty theft. The least we can do is to look after those cases so that Kira is free to do his important work."

"Good for Kira," Sayu chimes in, leaning over to hug her father. "It's not like anyone would miss those people, anyways!"

"I can't complain if it means that we get to see you more, dear!" Sachiko's voice is light, but the man laughs sheepishly at the playful rebuke in her voice.

Light's eyes drift towards his other self. His head is lowered as he smiles to himself, but Light can tell that his grin is stretched far too wide across the planes of his cheeks. When he looks up briefly to grace his family with a suitably benevolent smile, his eyes flash ever-so-subtly red.

_"Is this what we want?"_

"There is no 'we', you psychotic twit," Light snaps, driving his elbow backward into Kira's stomach. He winces as his arm sinks into appallingly yielding flesh with a nauseating _squelch_ , yet it does the trick - Kira's fingers fall from his throat, and he spins around to face-

He expects Ryuk, a monster with needle-sharp teeth and goggling lidless eyes; he expects a zombie, blood flowing from its mouth and a gunshot wound punching a ragged hole in its rotting chest. What he does not expect to see is himself, yet there he is - normal, sane, _untouched_ but for the crimson of his eyes and the twisted smirk adorning his features.

_"Is this-"_

"No," Light snarls, " _obviously_ this isn't what I want!"

Kira's deadened expression doesn't even flicker. "Why not?"

"Are you serious?" Light demands. "This-" He waves his hand, encompassing the false dream-scene behind him. "-isn't real. None of them would ever say anything like this!"

Kira raises a delicate eyebrow eloquently. "We are dead. What is real, other than what we _want_ to be real?"

Light doesn't bother to conceal his distaste. "You, for one."

Kira's mouth twists wryly. "How long will we continue with this denial? I am you, and you are me-"

 _"You are not me,"_ Light snarls, jabbing his finger into Kira's chest. "You are completely insane. A liability."

Kira laughs, a hollow mockery, as his eyes drift over Light's shoulder. "Do you forget? I removed your liabilities, when you were too _weak_ to do so-"

"They weren't liabilities!" This is a dream, and there is no one to hear, so Light screams as loud as he can, tries to grab Kira by the neck and sink his nails into his throat, but his flesh slides away beneath Light's fingers like water. For a moment, he knows how L must have felt, trying to catch a being standing right there in front of him, yet at the same time slipping inexorably away. "They were my family, and you had no _right_ to take them from me!"

"Then why don't you get rid of me?" Kira breathes, and Light's eyes widen at the sudden weight in his hands. Looking down feels like swimming through thickening gelatin, but he already knows what he will find long before he manages to bring it into view. Dream-like, his hands move of their own volition; Matsuda's gun rises steadily to point at Kira's heart.

"No," Light gasps, straining against the forces pinning him in place, fighting every centimeter of movement as his fingers drift towards the trigger. "I'm not you. I'm not a killer!"

"Don't be stupid," Kira sighs, a flash of disappointment darting across his features. "What do you think we've been doing all this time?"

"What I did was for justice-"

"What you wanted was survival." Kira's fingers close gently around his, gradually tightening their grip as they force his into place. "What you wanted was someone to _blame_ for your own actions. It was easy to judge when you thought you weren't Kira, wasn't it?"

"It was for the greater good!" Light tries to move his arms; succeeds only in shifting his weight slightly as his fingers lose another precious inch of air. Cold metal brushes against his fingertips.

"Then isn't it for the greater good to kill me, before I do any more harm to your precious liabilities?"

Evidently, physical effort will not get him out of this. He tries another tactic. "Neither of us have killed anyone like this before. Even you have never directly murdered someone!"

"What's the difference?" Kira murmurs. "And besides, there's always a first time for everything."

Light switches gears again, aims for the dream's own delusions. "I am you, and you are me," he says, parroting Kira's own words back at him. "How can we kill ourselves?"

Too late, he sees the razor edges of Kira's trap; too late, he feels the gun vanish from his hands as Kira's grip tightens into a vice, sending an agonizing jolt of pain through his fingers. _"Finally,"_ Kira purrs. "That's _just_ what I wanted you to say."

Light lunges forward, freed of his inertia, a howl of rage building on his lips-

***

Light wakes up, and everything is different.

The room is dark, and quiet, and cold - or perhaps it is him who is cold. Shards of ice stab through his fingers, yet the pain feels oddly disconnected from his own body. Dispassionately, he raises his hands, watching them spasmodically curl into trembling fists before uncurling once more.

When he catches sight of the detective, his whole body freezes again.

L is sprawled across his bed, completely defenseless and unaware. He has failed to take even the basic precautions that one might expect - guards, an alarm, handcuffs - when rooming with the God of the New World. Of course, the efficacy of any guard would be debatable, considering how the inhabitants of this world react to outside stimuli. Regardless, just as the first time around, his arrogance will be his undoing.

Light considers the long, white lines of L's exposed throat. Can it really be so easy? Yet, for all of his overpowering intellect, he has always been more-or-less matched with L in their physical fights. If L manages to break free of his grip while Light strangles him with a well-placed kick or surprisingly strong fist - well, Light hardly needs to be a genius to realize how disastrous that would be. 

No, on the whole, it will be better to procure a weapon-

_No!_

He frowns, shaking his head until the blurriness clears from his eyes. It does him no good to dwell in denial about the reality of the situation, such as it is. What he _should_ be thinking about is what will happen if he kills L, who is technically already dead. Is it possible for people to be killed, here? He considers the possible fate of Leanne and Antoine briefly, but he has no idea if they even *are* real in the first place, let alone whether or not the police managed to rescue them.

Is L real?

If he kills L, will he be able to escape his hell? Or will he simply die again - whether by age, or a stray vehicle, or a hail of bullets from a shockingly steady hand - and wake up chained to him once more? This time, there will be no ambiguity, no faintly mocking banter; if L has any common sense, he will kill Light instantly - and perhaps when Light wakes again, there will be cold metal wound around his wrist and wide black eyes an inch from his face, promising an unending eternity of death and murder, over and over again.

Or perhaps he can run, as L had suggested. Perhaps this limbo is as good as it will ever get.

After all, Light thinks bitterly to himself, what does he think he's doing here, anyways? It's not as if he really *needs* L to understand this unlife. He can manipulate people just as easily as he had before. He can carve out a new 'life', of sorts, for himself, even if it's completely pointless. Even if nobody will ever truly know who he is, or understand the paradise he had once envisioned. Even if he sinks into the gray nothingness of Mu while he's still alive, both Kira and Light nothing more than half-forgotten memories of joy.

He thinks that, more than anything, he wants someone to _understand._ Misa's petty biases, Takada's god-worship, Mikami's cold-edged lust for vengeance - they have all judged him in their own images, dragging his vision down to their level as they rationalize away the actions they disagree with and sculpt him into an idol tailored to their desires. If they had seen him in the warehouse, would they have been as disgusted and horrified as Matsuda, watching their god's image crumble to ash? Or would they simply have ignored it, unable to comprehend the sight before them?

Maybe the real reason he's staying with L is-

Light wrenches his mind back from the edge of _that_ deadly abyss, concentrates on the movement of his hands as he slowly gets them under conscious control. He can't help but wonder what he will do if those hands manage to find themselves holding a weapon. Would he really be able to do it? Would Kira? Would it be any different from using the Death Note, or Rem, to kill L? Would it be any different from the crimes he'd killed others for, so many times?

He lies awake, staring fixedly at the patchy hotel ceiling, until the first rays of the morning on his face finally lull Kira into a restless sleep. Light listens to the sounds of L stirring from his sleep, contorting into odd stretches, shuffling towards him until his owl-eyes are fixed critically on Light's own.

"You look terrible, Kira-kun."

Light opens his mouth, closes it again. "Yeah, well...so do you," he retorts weakly.

L tuts critically, shaking his head in disappointment. "Kira-kun is _much_ less fun in the mornings," he says mournfully as he slouches towards the washroom. In less than a minute, disturbingly cheery, horrendously off-key singing begins to resonate from the direction of the shower.

Light pulls the covers over his head, closes his eyes, and does his best not to dream.

***

Groaning, Light rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, preserving the blissful darkness for a few moments before experimentally peeking through his fingers. Unfortunately, the scene before him is woefully unaltered.

"Does anyone in this hotel behave like a normal person?" he snaps.

"A normal person would have kicked you _many_ more times by now, Kira-kun," L says. "It is fortunate for you that I am possessed of strong moral fibre-"

Light is aware that his derisive laugh sounds ever-so-slightly deranged, but it's an acceptable margin of insanity. "Oh, please. Any moderately ethical person forced to interact with you for more than a minute at a time would run away screaming."

L raises his eyebrows. "Kira-kun does not consider himself a moderately ethical person?"

"Not really, no," Light says casually. "Actually, I've been thinking about how to best murder you and get away with it all night."

L looks somewhat interested. "And what were your conclusions?"

Light flashes his best sneer at his erstwhile colleague. "No need. As long as you keep interacting with people, someone will eventually be driven mad by your idiocy and kill you for me."

Thoughtfully, L taps his lips with one finger. "Ninety-nine point three percent, Kira-kun."

"You know, eventually you're going to run into an upper percentage bound-"

"Forgive me, Kira-kun, I didn't realize that you did not know numbers can have more than one decimal place-"

"Uh, excuse me?"

Light and L simultaneously turn to fix their eyes on the victim, hesitantly waving one hand. He flinches at Light's withering glare, but seemingly manages to find some solace in L's usual vacant stare. "Er...not to bother you chaps or anything, but I'm kind of bleeding out here..."

Light waves his hand dismissively. "Scalp wounds bleed far more than one would expect. You'll live."

"I must apologize for my colleague," L says soothingly, and Light whips his head around to stare at him. "He is not much of a people person."

"Yeah, I could tell," the man says, rolling his eyes.

"That is utterly _absurd_ ," Light splutters. "Please excuse my behavior, and _my_ colleague. He's been needling me for what feels like eternity-"

"He also has somewhat of a persecution complex," L says in an exaggerated stage whisper. Light does his best not to glower *too* fiercely at the victim's snickers. The opinions of idiots should not matter to him.

"Can you tell us exactly what happened, Mr. Dunfrey?" Light says brusquely, pulling a notebook - a perfectly _ordinary_ one, unfortunately - and pen from his pocket.

The man scratches the back of his head sheepishly, wincing. "I don't know how much I can tell you chaps. It all happened so fast. I was kneeling down to grab a drink from the minibar, and the next thing I knew, there was this blinding pain in my head-"

Light surveys the pieces of broken glass scattered around the minibar area. Half of the beer bottle that Mr. Dunfrey's unknown assailant had used to conk him over the head is still intact, splashes of blood liberally decorating its jagged edges.

"-I was stunned from the shock for a few seconds, and by the time I regained my senses, I couldn't breathe! There was something around my neck...I-I think it might have been some sort of rope or belt from the way it felt, but there was blood in my eyes and I couldn't _see_ anything..."

A belt, from the looks of the angry red band around the man's neck.

"There, there," L says, gingerly patting the man's hand in a passable imitation of sympathy.

"Thank you," Mr. Dunfrey says tremulously. "I was so sure I was going to die, but then there was a miracle! I must have managed to make some noise. I heard Stephen shout out from the kitchen, loud and clear. It must have scared that devil! He pushed me into the minibar, and knocked it over in the process - there was the most horrendous crash, my ears were ringing - and then, before I knew it, Stephen was helping me up."

Light frowns at him. "Are your ears still ringing?" The man shakes his head. "Any pain in your head?"

"Well, _yes,_ ", Mr. Dunfrey says, eyeing Light suspiciously as he points at the cut on his scalp. "Are you sure you're cut out to be a detective?"

Light jots down a quick note. _Chance of concussion - low. Acute case of incurable idiocy - probable._

"Where did your assailant go?" L asks, craning his neck to examine the remnants of the minibar. "Did this Stephen see them?"

Mr. Dunfrey shakes his head. "They must have gone out the other door. This is the central room of this suite - there's a wing of rooms leading off to the right, through that open archway. There's a kitchen and storage area to the left. I count myself lucky that Stephen had just come by to prepare a snack when I was attacked." He shudders. "Who knows what might have happened otherwise?"

"You would have died," L says, nodding sagely. "That is what would have happened."

Mr. Dunfrey goggles at him. "Yes...quite..." he says faintly.

"We'll talk to Stephen next," Light says, nodding sharply. "Is there anything else you can tell us about the incident?"

The victim spreads his hands. "I'm sorry. I've told you everything I know."

"Right." Light spins his pen through his fingers, reviewing his scanty notes. "One last thing. Can you think of any reason why one of your guests would want to harm you?"

The man sighs, shoulders sagging. "Well, er...I may have made a bit of a mistake..."

L rises from his crouch and begins to prowl around the room in wide circles, taking care to keep his bare feet far away from the broken glass. Light taps his fingers impatiently, narrowing his eyes at the man's unusual reticence. "A mistake?"

"I, uh." Mr. Dunfrey attempts a disarming smile, but fails miserably. "I _may_ have told my four children that they were squandering their lives with their petty vices and weak characters. Men were made of sterner stuff back in my day, you know-" Light clears his throat pointedly, and the man blurts out the rest in one quick breath. "I gathered them here to tell them that I'm cutting them all off from my money, effective immediately, until they get themselves under control."

Light stares at him incredulously. "And you did not feel the need to start off with that piece of information?"

The man bristles, looking towards L for support, but the detective is far too engrossed in the act of repeatedly opening the heavy oak door to the left of the central room and closing it again - each time accompanied by torturous creaking - to notice. "Why are you questioning me? I'm the victim here!"

"Yes, you seem to have made sure of that yourself." Light sneers at him. "Let me guess. You told them that you were planning on cutting them out of your will, too, and you were probably going to do it _first thing_ the next morning." 

The sudden shiftiness of the man's eyes is all the confirmation he needs. "I-I'm not *that* bad! I told them that I had removed them from my will already!"

The oak door flies open with a bang, and L pokes his head out. "Surely Mr. Dunfrey has no need of a will, since he is _already dead?_ "

The man gapes at him. "What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

L shrugs. "Worth a shot." He disappears inside the kitchen in the blink of an eye, banging the door shut behind him.

"As I was saying-" Light begins, waving his hand in front of the victim's face.

The door slowly slides open again, this time silent as the grave, L's pale face emerging slowly from the shadows at a particularly hideous angle. "The four suspects are your children, yes? Do you have any _small_ children? Grandchildren, perhaps?"

"No," the man says, bewildered. "At least, I don't think I do-"

Light snorts in disgust. "Father of the year. I can't _imagine_ why your own flesh and blood wanted to do away with you."

L's night-black eyes flicker towards him, piercing his flesh to the bone. "Oh, I wouldn't be so quick to judge. After all, even the most righteous and honorable of men can raise complete monsters through no particular shortcomings of their own. Wouldn't you agree, Kira-kun?"

"That's right!" Mr. Dunfrey perks up. "This isn't _my_ fault!"

"At least it's better than raising a _failure_ ," Light says coldly, meeting L's gaze.

L raises an eyebrow. "I would say that getting shot by _Matsuda_ is a fairly serious failing."

"That was an isolated incident! You can't bring that up every single time-"

Mr. Dunfrey sighs. "This isn't about me, is it."

L emerges fully from the kitchen, gingerly holding a box of oatmeal raisin cookies at arm's length with thumb and forefinger. "Would you like this to be about you?" He shakes the box at the victim accusingly. "You have very poor taste in food, Mr. Dunfrey."

Light turns away, leaving the pair of them to their inanities. He considers the open archway to the right briefly before moving over towards it. There is no door in the arch, only a thick curtain. Pulling it back, a short hallway is revealed, three doors identical to the one leading to the kitchen lining the walls. A quick inspection reveals that there is a bathroom on the left wall, water liberally splashed around the sink, while two lushly-appointed bedrooms lie behind the doors on the right. Experimentally, he steps inside the first bedroom, pulling the door shut. He frowns, concentrating hard. Mr. Dunfrey's loud whining is faintly audible through the door, but it is difficult to make out any of his words. Nodding to himself, he leaves the room and heads towards the far bedroom where the four suspects are gathered beneath the watchful supervision of one of the hotel goons, suppressing a vicious grin as he hears L enthusiastically launch into the beginning of his preferred dietary lecture. There is less than a 3% chance of Mr. Dunfrey escaping with his sanity intact.

Smiling pleasantly, he opens the door to greet three degenerates and one would-be murderer.

***

Carl Dunfrey, age 32, has prematurely graying hair, a gratingly nasal voice, and a nervous tendency to push his glasses up with the forefinger of one hand while clearing his throat repeatedly. He also has a thin belt holding up his pants, which swim loosely on his bony legs. "It wasn't any of us," he insists, nose twitching. "It couldn't have been!"

"The door was locked with no sign of false entry, and the window latches don't actually work," Light drones. "It was one of you."

"No, you don't understand. It literally _can't_ have been." Carl leans forward, hands on his knees. "After Dad told us what he was planning to do - well, I won't lie to you. We were angry. I mean, why would he pretend that he had some big exciting announcement to make, rent a room and everything, and then just say that? Seriously, who _does_ that?"

 _L,_ Light thinks immediately, but manages to restrain himself from smirking.

"Jake stormed off first," Carl continues. "Stephen and I didn't really know what to do, and Rob was working himself up into a real screaming fury, so we just sort of grabbed him and marched him out of there."

Light underlines a word in his notes. "Out of where?"

"Oh, sorry. He stayed in the minibar area. It was really messed up - he'd poured us drinks beforehand and everything. We came here, actually. We joined Jake in this bedroom."

"And what did you do?"

Carl shrugs. "Let Rob vent, mostly. Passed around Jake's flask. Rob wasn't looking so great, though, so Stephen volunteered to head to the kitchen and try and scrounge up some food. He ran in to get us ten minutes later, and...well, you know the rest."

"You heard nothing else until then? No loud noises, no shouting - nothing?"

"No," Carl replies. "It's hard to hear anything with these heavy doors shut."

Light raises an eyebrow skeptically. "So the three of you never left the room otherwise?"

Carl twitches again, compulsively nudges his glasses upward. "No."

Unbelievable. How can a pathetic insect like this honestly think that he can fool Kira, God of the New-

_I'm Light Yagami._

He presses his hands to his temples, closes his eyes for a moment. When he returns to himself, he notices Carl staring at him nervously, licking his lips. "I-is that everything?"

"No," he says curtly, and grimaces at Carl's flinch. He modulates his voice to be more soothing, paints a reassuring smile on his face. "Listen, Carl, I know what happened."

The man gapes. "Y-you do?"

Light pictures the slapdash spray of water in the bathroom, notes Carl's eyes darting towards the wall separating the two bedrooms rather than the door. He is protecting someone else, not himself. Light makes an educated guess. "Rob went to the bathroom while Stephen was in the kitchen, didn't he?"

Carl's jaw slackens. "H-how did you..." He recovers quickly, a touch of steel appearing from nowhere to reinforce his backbone. "But that doesn't prove anything!" he declares triumphantly. "Jake went with him. Figured he shouldn't be alone in the state he was in!"

Light hums thoughtfully, tapping his pen against his notepad. "So you were alone for some time, then. No witnesses."

Carl freezes, gulping. He trembles briefly, twitches again, but gathers what courage he can and raises his chin in some small attempt at defense. "No. I guess there weren't."

***

Jacob Dunfrey is a sullen young man, his 25 years of age masked by the harshness of his features and the broken blood vessels of a habitual alcoholic marring his nose and ruddy cheeks. His hand strays occasionally to his bulging pocket several times before he finally breaks and takes a large gulp from the flask concealed within. He, too, wears a belt - ostentatious and pebbled with snakeskin, an overlarge buckle adorning the front.

His story, for the most part, matches Carl's. "I needed a bloody drink," he mutters, rubbing his hand over his face. "Wasn't going to stick around and give the old man the satisfaction of watching us beg for his money."

"So you left the room," Light says neutrally.

"Yeah, got about as far away as I could - which wasn't very bloody far. Couple minutes later, the rest barge in. Looked like _they_ needed a drink even more than I did, and that's saying a whole bloody lot."

"What happened next?" he prompts.

Jacob shrugs. "Eh. Rob faffed about, yelling and blustering for a bit. Eventually Stephen got sick of it, headed to the kitchen. Probably just to get a few minutes of peace and quiet."

"He would have had to walk right by your father," Light points out. "That does not seem very conducive to peace and quiet."

Jacob snorts. "Old man wasn't in much mood for _talking_ , was he? He'd said his piece, and as far as he was concerned that was the end of it. Take it from me, he wouldn't have initiated a conversation even if he was on fire.

"Anyways, Rob was getting worse and worse. Took him to the bathroom to freshen up, but he just wanted to keep on yelling and splashing everything around, the big lug. I took a page from Stephen's book and ducked out for a second into the first bedroom." His hand strays to his flask again. "You know, just to rest my head a bit."

Oh yes, Light does know. He keeps it out of his tone, though. "And how long were you gone?"

Jacob blows out a long puff of air through his nose. "Not too long, I'd reckon. A minute, maybe? Then I went back and collected Rob from the hallway, and we got back to Carl. He hadn't moved from where we'd left him, he hadn't."

"And how long was Rob in the bathroom?"

"I wasn't timing him," Jacob says, bewildered. "I dunno. Maybe...maybe two minutes, tops?"

Two minutes. Probably enough time for Carl to smash his father over his head with a bottle, deprive him of oxygen for half a minute, and make his escape. In contrast, Jacob and Rob had one minute alone each.

Had that been enough time for murder?

***

Light has to consciously keep himself from tapping his pen impatiently as Robert Dunfrey spits out his story, the words coming fast and staccato with long pauses in between, like machine gun fire from a rusted turret. The big man's fists clench and unclench as he speaks, his fury barely restrained. Robert isn't wearing a belt.

His story corroborates every word of Carl's and Jacob's, only diverging after the point where Jacob had left him in the bathroom for a quick drinking break. "Knew I was making a scene," he says gruffly. "Splashed one last bit of water on my face. Headed into the hall to calm down."

Now that's interesting. "Did you see anyone?"

"Nah. Not till Jacob came out of the first bedroom. Looked like he'd downed the whole flask in barely twenty seconds, the lush."

"Twenty seconds? You're sure?"

Robert shrugs. "Got bored. Counted seconds. Calmed me down."

"And nobody came down the hallway?"

"No-one," Robert confirms. "Got back. Carl was where we'd left him. Not two minutes later, Stephen rushes in." He scowls. "Bloody crazy story."

"Looks realistic enough to me," Light says, and is rewarded with a bitter snort.

"Old man probably did it himself. Give him an excuse to disown us. Not that he needs one. Prick."

Light can't help but agree.

***

Stephen Dunfrey is wiry and sandy-haired. A fidgeter, he keeps moving reflexively to check his pocket; when his hand comes up empty, he laughs nervously. "Got a bit riding on a horse, you know. Must have dropped my phone in the confusion."

It's clear enough what his vice is. Bad fashion. With a bit of gambling on the side. Stephen's pants look almost painfully tight, paired with a loose, thin belt that is obviously just for show. His shirt is an unholy mix of brightly colored plaid and undulating spirals that probably should come with a seizure warning. His story matches the others initially. He shrugs helplessly when asked about the lead-up to the attack.

"I can't really tell you much. Rob looked knackered. I thought I'd get him a snack. Went straight to the kitchen - completely ignored by dear old dad, by the way. I checked the pantry in case anyone had left some stuff there, but all I found were some oatmeal raisin cookies." The disgust that creeps into his voice is almost palpable. "Probably hard as a rock, too. Anyways, I was standing there, holding these stale, scavenged biscuits and thinking about what my life had become, when I heard this noise from the minibar, like someone was calling for help. I ran for the door and shouted out. When I came out, well-" He spreads his hands. "Someone had really put dad through the wringer. There was a giant mess everywhere. I went to help him up."

"Did you notice anything?" Light prompts him. "Perhaps some movement as the suspect fled?"

Stephen shakes his head regretfully. "Sorry, nothing at all. He must have been fast."

Light hums noncommittally. "Then some time must have passed between your arrival on the scene and the assailant's departure. Could he have exited the apartment, perhaps?"

Stephen frowns. "I don't know. I don't think it could have been a random attack. In fact, now that I think about it, I noticed the curtains still moving as I walked in. They must have gone towards the hallway rooms. Do-do you really think it was one of us?"

Light's eyes glitter. "Oh, yes. Just one more question-"

Light sighs as L bangs the door open, sending a shrieking Stephen a foot into the air as he jumps in shock. "You have a real knack for ruining dramatic moments, L."

"It is one of my specialties," L says solemnly. "I have now searched the entire suite. There is no other weapon sufficient to match the marks around Mr. Dunfrey's neck hidden anywhere in these rooms. Or outside, considering that the windows are sealed and nobody has left."

"And the suspects consented to full-body searches?" L just flashes a ghastly grin full of childlike enthusiasm, swinging briefly into an exaggerated karate pose.

"Right," Light mutters. "Forget I asked."

"Only one left," L says cheerfully, moving towards Stephen. The man gives Light a desperate look, but he just smirks, proceeding towards the kitchen. _It's nice to watch someone else get tormented by L for a change._ The heavy archway curtains resist his touch for a moment, but rapidly fall back into stillness after he pushes through. 

Two someones, actually, when he sees Mr. Dunfrey sprawled against the sofa, blinking rapidly as if he really has been concussed. Light recognizes the signs of prolonged exposure to L. Unfortunately, this time he actually does need the man to talk. He turns around, hand on the doorknob leading to the kitchen.

"Looks like you enjoyed my colleague's company," he says smoothly. "I'll have to tell him to come back for a chat - he seems to really have taken a liking to you-"

Mr. Dunfrey's eyes bulge. "Now hold on just a moment! You can't leave me in here with _him-_ "

The door bangs shut behind him, and the man's voice cuts off neatly. He strains his ears to listen. Mr. Dunfrey's shouts are almost as faint to his ears when the door closes behind him as it had been when he was in the far bedroom, and they fade away entirely as he crosses through the kitchen and enters the walk-in pantry at the far end. Returning to the kitchen, he notes the bareness of the counters; idly slides open several drawers until he finds one full of unused cutlery, forks and knives gleaming dully in the dim light.

Light nods to himself. 

He emerges just as L slouches past the curtains, eliciting a whimper from Mr. Dunfrey.

"I know who your would-be murderer is," Light says triumphantly, savoring every word. "It was-"

"Stephen," he and L say together. His eyes narrow as L yawns.

"It was obvious enough, Kira-kun."

"Hang on!" Mr. Dunfrey protests. "It can't be Stephen! He-he saved me! He was in the kitchen when I was attacked!"

"No, he wasn't," L and Light say together. Light rounds on L.

"Just because you forced a confession from some other poor sap doesn't mean you get to take credit for this, L. I solved this mystery first. And far more thoroughly, might I add."

"Do tell," L says dryly. "I do so enjoy hearing Kira-kun attempt to prove himself."

Light smirks at him. "Many clues point to Stephen. Although the other three were not out of each other's sights long enough for anyone to commit the murder alone, the possibility remained that they had worked together. Yet, had they done so, there would hardly be any need to panic if Stephen had noticed anything. One could have held the kitchen door, or pretended to be yelling in frustration if Robert were involved. If they had been committed to the act of murder, one man may have stopped - but hardly two or more men.

"This may be circumstantial, but several discrepancies in Mr. Dunfrey's and Stephen's story stand out. Firstly, Stephen states that he heard Mr. Dunfrey's cries for help while inside the pantry. I was unable to hear even his impassioned screaming from within the pantry. To hear a strangled gasp would be impossible. Secondly, Mr. Dunfrey stated that he heard Stephen's shout 'loud and clear' from the kitchen. This is also impossible - any sound coming through that heavy door is muffled."

"I'm not lying!" Mr. Dunfrey says indignantly. "I did hear him!"

"I know," Light says smugly.

The man blinks. "You-you do?"

"Yes," Light says, nodding. "Let us say that you truly had manufactured the whole situation, as Robert suggested - not that I believe you would have the will to strangle yourself. Stephen would have noticed it if the door to the kitchen had been open, allowing him to hear any false 'cry for help' from you. And his tale of shouting from within the kitchen to drive the intruder off appears to confirm your story, at least initially. Furthermore, what would have been the advantage for you in faking an attack? You did not need an excuse to carry out the actions you had threatened - you were already planning on cutting your four sons off from your money. Perhaps you were looking for an excuse _not_ to do it?"

"Well, I was right, wasn't I?" the victim says indignantly. "Stephen's the only one who couldn't have done it! He's the only one I can trust-"

Light shakes his head. "Stephen is the only one who _could_ have done it. The curtains are made of an extraordinarily thick fabric, and still within mere seconds after someone passes through them. Stephen claims that he saw the curtains moving as he entered the main room. But, during that time, the only three other suspects were all together in the far bedroom, and we have already ruled out the possibility of them working together."

"That doesn't prove anything!" Stephen bursts out. "My father heard me shouting!"

"Yes - which, as I've mentioned before, could only have been as clear as Mr. Dunfrey described if you had _not_ been in the kitchen as you claimed. In actual fact, you were within the main room."

"He would have been able to tell, then, wouldn't he?" Stephen says triumphantly.

"He was being strangled and his ears were ringing, by his own admission." Light spreads his hands. "I doubt that he was able to exactly pinpoint where your voice was coming from."

Trapped, Stephen makes one last attempt to save himself. "If I was the one who did it, why would I have even shouted in the first place? I would have kept on strangling him, wouldn't I?"

"Not if you didn't actually intend to murder him," Light says, grinning viciously. "He had already removed you from his will. If you killed him, you would get no money and most probably a jail sentence. But if he thought that you had saved him from an attack? Such a situation would benefit only you."

Mr. Dunfrey's eyes narrow. "You would have framed your brothers for your own selfish gain, Stephen?"

"Rob was completely off his rocker!" Stephen shouts. "I knew they'd all stick together and that you wouldn't be able to finger any of them for it. I _need_ this money! If I don't pay my debts, they-they'll kill me!"

His job is done. Ignoring the increasingly heated argument behind him, Light turns towards L with a gleeful smirk. "Looks like we've solved another mystery. What was your contribution, again? Oh, that's right - nothing."

"Kira-kun was wrong," L says calmly.

His eyes narrow. "Terrorizing our suspects does not count as a positive contribution-"

"No, Kira-kun was wrong about Stephen," L says patiently. He pulls a thin smartphone from his pocket, holding it up to the light.

"Hey, that's mine!" Stephen blurts out, distracted from Mr. Dunfrey's strident litany of parental recriminations. "Where did you get that?"

"It was just beyond the kitchen door."

"Aha!" Stephen puffs out his chest. "You see! This proves that I was in the kitchen!"

"Nobody is denying that you were in the kitchen at some point," L replies patiently. "You ensured that Mr. Dunfrey saw or heard you enter. Then you snuck back out, placing the phone on the ground outside the kitchen door and using it to play a pre-recorded shout so that your father would believe that you had emerged from the kitchen at the time he was being strangled. It was probably kicked back under the door in the subsequent confusion."

"That's just speculation! The phone was locked-"

"The password was 1-2-3-4."

"I couldn't have played the shout if I was strangling him-"

"You left the phone on the timer screen, with the alert sound set to a recording of you shouting." L tilts the phone so that the screen is visible, an expired one-minute timer flashing on its screen. "The shout, by the way, is inaudible in this room when played from inside the kitchen. I checked."

"Oh," Stephen says, slumping. "I guess you've got me."

"What? No!" Light snaps. " _I_ got you! You confessed right in front of us!"

"But now there's definite proof!" Mr. Dunfrey cries. "Well done, Detective! Perhaps that strange dietary method really does have something to recommend it, after all!"

Light can't believe this is happening. L smiles benignly at him. "You took quite a long time, Kira-kun. My tests were complete within the first five minutes. Would you like a cookie, perhaps?"

Yelling incoherently, Light launches himself at L as the detective's foot rises up to meet him.

***

Light dabs at his split lip with the corner of a hotel napkin, scowling. Beside him, L gingerly pats his eye with an ice cube wrapped in layers of tissues. He doesn't even look that bad, Light thinks resentfully. Aside from some slight swelling, the black eye blends in almost indistinguishably with his usual dark circles.

"It is unfortunate that the hotel goons had to separate us," L says reproachfully. "Very unprofessional of you to attack me in front of witnesses, Kira-kun."

"If you're so concerned about being _professional,_ " Light snaps, "maybe you shouldn't have kicked the goon."

"And you shouldn't have launched yourself onto his back while shrieking at him to stay out of it," L says placidly. "Perhaps it is for the best that we have been given the afternoon off."

Light winces as the memories of his undignified screeches flash through his brain. "...Perhaps."

L straightens, hopping off the bench. "There is a tennis court on the outskirts of the city that we could investigate."

Light stares at him blankly. "Tennis? You want to play tennis? Now?"

"Strictly for the purposes of testing our hypotheses," L says soothingly. "If Kira-kun is afraid of losing-"

He unfolds himself from his seated position, maintaining eye contact. "To you? _Hardly._ "

"Then shall we put it to the test?"

"Bring it on."

***

According to L, the Tube is accurately depicted, and the bus route they take to the tennis court corresponds with his memories of how it had been in life. Light scans the landscape through the window carefully. He does not notice anything suspicious about the level of detail in the scenery - no strange fog, or lack of landmarks, or anything indicating that their surroundings are located anywhere other than actual London.

"How much trouble do you suppose we'll be in if we're caught trespassing?" Light muses as they exit the bus.

L's head swivels on his neck as he looks about. Eventually, he chooses a direction, striding away with long steps as Light quickens his pace to catch up. "None, I suspect. The suspects themselves did not seem particularly concerned about our little brawl. Nor have we been fired, which does somewhat stretch disbelief."

"We haven't been fired _yet,_ " Light mutters darkly.

"With Kira-kun's temper, it is only a matter of time." L nods solemnly. "Still, I do not think we are done yet."

"You believe there is a pattern to the cases," Light says, frowning. "Drug possession, theft, assault. What comes next?"

The answer hangs unspoken in the air between them.

L waves one hand carelessly as he deftly picks the lock on the fence door with the other. "Let's refrain from talking about work for the duration of this match."

Light smirks as he proceeds through the door, swinging it shut behind him. "Why? Are you afraid that you'll need all your concentration to play against me?"

"My depth perception is somewhat impaired." L points to his eye. "Take heart, Kira-kun. With this handicap, you actually stand some chance of winning."

Light scans the equipment bins, hefting one racket in his hand and giving it an experimental swing. "That's quite the boast, considering that you lost last time."

"Perhaps I was not necessarily playing to win, Kira-kun," L says quietly.

Light watches him for a few seconds as he casually ambles over to the bins, discarding several rackets. In the sunlight, the shocking paleness of his face stands out sharply, the angles of his cheekbones and jaw surprisingly strong. For a moment, his profile reminds Light of a statue, carved into life by some mad visionary's hand, striking in the manner of an unassuming masterpiece possessed of that ephemeral quality that Light can't quite manage to put his finger on.

With a shake of his head, he looks away. Perhaps he really is going mad.

But before he descends all the way, surely he'll at least have the time to show L that he can achieve victory on his own merits once more.

***

Light makes the first serve this time. As before, L doesn't appear to be in anything even remotely approaching proper tennis stance. Unlike before, Light now knows that most aspects of L's personality are based around deception.

His form is perfect as he launches an aggressive serve towards the edge of L's court. Unsurprisingly, the detective moves quicker than he would have thought humanly possible, intercepting the ball as it spikes towards the ground and sending it flying back to his right. Light lunges to tap the ball over the net. He has this one, he _knows_ it, but he moves back and prepares himself anyways. Sure enough, L is there, angling his racket so that the ball flies in a high arc over where Light's head would have been if he hadn't already begun to move back. Light sends the ball in a straight shot arcing past L on the side of his bad eye; he catches a wry smile from his opponent as L's arm shoots out to backhand the tennis ball straight back at his face. Light's returning swing is angled just a fraction too low - the tennis ball slams into the net, stretching the fibres outward briefly before dropping back onto Light's side of the court.

"Fifteen-love," L announces, casually shifting from one bare foot to the other as he prepares for Light's serve.

Light retaliates with a cheap shot, spiking the ball downward as L begins to open his mouth to speak. Both of them know that intercepting the ball would be physically impossible given the angle of attack and the position at which Light is aiming; instead of diving for the ball, L merely raises an eyebrow as he watches it impact the dirt of the tennis court.

"Fifteen-all."

"I see that Kira-kun is learning from his betters," L says dryly as he ambles over to the ball, spinning it idly in his hand.

"Keep your enemies close," Light says, eyes narrowed on L's hands, the muscles in his legs tensing as he prepares to move.

L doesn't seem to be in a hurry. He contemplates the tennis ball thoughtfully. "I believe that expression refers to your friends, Kira-kun."

"We're both," Light says, and is rewarded with a slight widening of L's eyes - well, the one eye that isn't in the process of swelling shut, at least - as the detective regards him curiously, head tilting to one side. For some reason, the look makes him feel somewhat uncomfortable, and he looks away first, inexplicably conscious of the sweat trickling down his face. "Since I am apparently surrounded by sycophants and idiots, my choice of friends is sadly limited."

"How sweet, Kira-kun." To his credit, L doesn't sound half as sarcastic as he could have. "In honor of our friendship, then."

Light prepares for a high-speed spike, but, to his surprise, L opts for an almost-gentle hit that sends him scrambling forward to return the short serve. His return stroke is disappointingly lacking in power, and L's black eyes gleam with amusement as he retorts with a powerful two-handed forehand that has Light on the defensive again, running back to return the hit in kind. He is already running forward as L stretches out his arm to gently tap the ball back over the net. Light dives, but is unable to reach the ball in time.

"Thirty-fifteen."

Light goes on the offensive, following up his power serve with a perfectly arced lob shot - which L returns with an almost casual tweener - and an attempt at an overhead shot. Shockingly, L manages to jump back, airborne for a moment as he intercepts the ball; impressive as it is, his return shot has too much power, and lands just outside the line on Light's side.

"Thirty-all!" Light calls, wiping his forehead with one hand as he catches his breath. L's posture still seems casual, damn him, but his hair is beginning to flatten against his head, and his baggy shirt clings to his wiry frame, patches of sweat imparting an interesting translucency to the thin fabric. Light tears his eyes away, hissing as he barely manages to return L's serve.

What the hell is _wrong_ with him?

He is vindicated briefly as he scores a point on L, but his advantage is quickly erased as L succeeds in firing a lob shot over his head.

"Deuce," L calls.

Unacceptable. Light is going to _win_ this set, or die trying.

L scores another point. Light catches L off guard with a successfully executed passing shot. L catches Light off guard with a half volley that Light isn't expecting him to be able to pull off. Light grits his teeth, stubbornly pushes aside his weariness, and goes on the offensive again, finally managing to force L to hit his ball into the net after a particularly grueling exchange.

"Deuce again," he says wearily, struggling not to gasp for breath.

"Would Kira-kun like some water? Kira-kun - does not look so good."

Was that a catch in his breath? Light points at him accusingly. "Yeah? Well, neither do you!"

"Unlike Kira-kun, I do not put too much stock in appearances," L says, proving his point by running a hand through his sodden hair and sending it into an explosion of limp-yet-crazed spikes. "Kira-kun looks rather like a drowned hamster."

"Well, _you_ don't look human, so overall nothing's really changed."

L's eyes narrow. "The next point will give advantage, Kira-kun. Are you ready?"

His throat feels like it's been lined with sandpaper. In lieu of replying immediately, he extends his arm outward, crooking one finger. "Like I said," he croaks, drawing himself up into a more dignified stance. "Bring it, bi-"

"Hey! You two!"

The two of them turn in unison, staring at the portly man emerging onto the court, arms waving. "Oh-oh," L says quietly.

Light's eyes bulge. It's Demegawa. Despite the hat shading his face, he's sure of his identification this time. His mustache, his features, the yellow tint of his glasses, his voice - it's unmistakably him. The racket hangs slack from Light's hand as he steps forward, begins to speak.

Then the man raises his head even further, and Light freezes in shock as the yellow tint fades and the receding shadows reveal a completely different man - slightly younger, British, and mustache hair that glints brownish-blonde. Light's mind races. _I saw him clearly this time, I'm sure - how? Why is this happening?_

"This is private property! What the hell do you think you're doing!" The man's florid face reddens even further.

L glances quickly at the man. Light gapes, still stunned, as he quickly tosses the tennis ball in the air, then launches it directly at the man, who yelps as he dives out of the way. L takes off in a furious sprint for the fence door.

"L, what the-" His eyes widen as the man begins to push himself up from the ground, looking even angrier. "Oh, screw this." Light drops his racket, then joins L in running for the door.

They run all the way to the bus stop, gasping as they stagger forward. Luckily, the bus pulls up just as they arrive. Gratefully, Light drags himself up the stairs, dropping into the first available seat and closing his eyes. He hears a thump as L lowers himself into the seat beside him.

"I can't believe you just did that!" Light says after a while, eyes still closed. "What was all that stuff about the ends not justifying the means?"

"I wasn't aiming at him, Kira-kun," L says reproachfully. "I was aiming at his hat. He would have been unharmed."

Light tries and fails to suppress a laugh. It emerges as more of a pained wheeze. "Oh, please! You nearly gave him a heart attack...Kira-kun."

L looks so offended that another burst of laughter escapes from Light's mouth. He clutches his stomach, snickering uncontrollably. He doesn't quite manage to get himself under control until they return to the hotel and L darts into the bathroom to hog the shower while Light is distracted by his errant sense of humor.

Scowling futilely at the door, Light grabs a bottle of water from the minibar and wanders over to stand under the air conditioning unit as he watches the sunset. For some reason, he feels oddly calm. He wishes he could preserve this peaceful feeling; internalize the seductive sensation of lassitude enveloping his limbs as he allows himself to relax, deprived momentarily of the sense of urgency that has been dogging his steps since he woke to his unlife.

He wishes he could carry on feeling happy.

***

Light is half-dozing against the wall by the time L emerges. "Took you long enough," he grumbles, rubbing his eyes blearily as he attempts to adjust to the darkness.

"Try not to whine, Kira-kun," L says condescendingly, making a show of settling comfortably into his bed and stretching. "It is quite unbecoming."

Light gives him the finger as he drags himself into the bathroom. He swears he hears a quiet chuckle behind him as he shuts the door.

He grimaces at his reflection in the mirror. Between the split lip, disheveled clothing, and the disgusting layer of dried sweat coating his skin, he looks almost as bad as he did when he first woke. Sighing, he mentally adds an extra step to his hair-care routine as he steps out of his clothes.

His pants fall to the floor with an audible _clink._

Light frowns. He hasn't worn a belt since he died. Could this be some other prank by L? Cautiously, he picks up the pants, giving them an experimental shake. One pocket certainly feels heavier than the other. He reaches inside -

His heart stops. For a moment, the room swims before his eyes as he stares at the knife in his hand, glinting innocuously under the harsh bathroom light.

His mind flashes back to Mr. Dunfrey's suite. The drawer in the kitchen. The same pattern, inlaid on all the cutlery. On the handle of the sharp knife he is holding.

 _"Fuck,"_ he hisses desperately. "Fuck shit _fuck!_ "

Trying desperately to control his breathing, he reaches out with one shaking hand, attempting to pry his fingers off the knife handle one by one. It seems to him as though he releases his grip only reluctantly, the knife falling to the sink counter with a soft clatter that prompts another muffled curse. He backs away, eyes wide, unwilling to meet his own gaze in the mirror.

Light doesn't remember picking up that knife. He doesn't remember taking it. Doesn't remember putting it in his pocket. Doesn't remember noticing its weight all day.

What else doesn't he remember?

He looks around frantically. _Don't panic. Don't panic._ What are his options?

There are no windows in the bathroom. He can't flush a knife down the toilet. He can't risk hiding it somewhere and having L find it. He can't risk carrying it through their room and throwing it out the window. What if L sees-

No. He can't keep on lying to himself. He can't risk the chance that he'll find his feet drifting towards L's bed, the knife steady in his fingers. He can't risk the thought of waking up with his hands stained red, a body lying unseeing in the room next to him.

He darts a nervous glance towards the bathroom door. Has L heard him? Is he waiting outside the door, face an inch away from the frame, for Light to emerge? Is he expecting Light? Or Kira?

Light throws the bathroom cupboard open. Grabs the leave-in conditioner. Empties it out in the bathtub, keeping his other hand clenched tightly in a fist against his knee until he is done. He picks up the knife with a barrier of toilet paper between his fingers and the handle, shoving it into the bottle and screwing the cap firmly on before tossing it into the cupboard and firmly closing the door.

He showers as quickly as he can; washes his hair in a fog, barely remembering to count the seconds as he rinses.

He emerges from the bathroom with the bottle tucked under his folded clothes, an excuse prepared on his lips. _"We're out of leave-in conditioner, my hair will_ never _be the same..._ "

L is asleep, the sound of his breathing slow and even as he sprawls across his bed, eyes closed. Is he actually asleep, or is he pretending?

Light doesn't dare approach him to check.

Casually, he moves over to the window, unlatching it and lifting the lower pane as slowly as he can. With a quick glance at L's still form, he slides the bottle out and, with a violent movement, throws it as far as he can. He watches it arc downward until it falls out of sight.

Light shoves his folded clothes inside his dresser, climbs stiffly into his bed, and lies awake staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours before he finally drifts off into an uneasy sleep. Despite his attempts to studiously not think about it, one thought keeps floating to the top of his mind.

_I have to tell L._


	7. Streets of Fire

Light has a serious problem.

To be specific, he has _many_ serious problems. But the seemingly insurmountable problem staring him unblinkingly in the face - quite literally so - is probably the most pressing of his issues at the moment.

It's not as if there's a precise guide for navigating ticking social time bombs like these. _Dear Google, how does one tell their unwilling roommate/possible friend/definite enemy that their murderous split personality is plotting to kill them - again?_

It's a bit of an awkward situation, to say the least.

Glumly, he forks another piece of rubbery omelette into his mouth. It tastes like ashes and failure.

"Is Kira-kun finally regretting his limited choice of breakfast food?"

Light doesn't have to fake his grimace as his eyes flicker over to the sodden pancake doing its best to stay afloat in the small pool of artificial maple syrup filling L's bowl. He watches in horrified fascination as the detective delicately lifts a spoonful of syrup to his lips, bony wrist angled elegantly outward as he sips the disgustingly sweet concoction with every outward appearance of contentment. Pretending that the sick feeling in his stomach is entirely due to sympathy for what L's beleaguered digestive system must be enduring, he firmly pushes his plate away from him, leaning backward.

"I like Kira-kun's hairstyle today," L muses between sips. "It reminds me of my own."

Light scowls at him. It's far too early in the morning for such low blows. Still, it's as good an opportunity as any. "Actually," he says, clearing his throat, "I didn't have the chance to properly set it last night. My sleep keeps getting interrupted-"

"Oh," L says, abashed. "Kira-kun is more observant than I had thought. My apologies."

"What?" Light frowns at L. For a moment, he debates whether or not he wants to ask, but finally decides that it will probably be best for his sanity if he doesn't know. "No, not...whatever it is you're talking about." He leans forward, folding his hands somberly for additional dramatic effect. "I have been having some very disturbing dreams of late. Dreams that may have dire consequences for both of us."

To his disgruntlement, this portentous announcement is not treated with anywhere near the gravity it deserves. L takes another sip of his syrup, small chunks of half-disintegrated pancake clinging desperately to life in the sticky morass. "Hmm."

Light waits a few moments. When it is clear that this is the only response he will be getting, he glares at the detective. "'Hmm?' Is that really all you have to say?"

L contemplates his syrup. "I cannot think of a single topic that I would like to hear less about than Kira-kun's 'disturbing dreams.'" He sets down his spoon to form air quotes around the latter phrase, spurring Light to further heights of outrage.

"Well, too bad," he snaps. "This is important."

L sighs, lowering his spoon. "I have had dreams too, Kira-kun."

Despite himself, a frisson of fear runs down Light's spine. "You have?"

"Yes," L says. "I dream that I am running down an endless hall, chased by a pack of nattering hair-care products. Yet what I fear is not that they will catch me. No, my greatest fear is being forced to listen to their inane, incessant chattering for all of eternity." He leans forward, resting his chin on his hands. "How would you interpret that one, Kira-kun?"

Light concentrates on dimming the sound of the blood pounding in his ears. He is _not_ going to end up a murderer just because L is too stubborn to shut up and actually listen to him, for once in his life.

Of course, the fact that Light *did* sort of technically murder L once already - and that he turned out to be Kira after all, to boot - does slightly complicate their mutual trust issues, but Light isn't about to let a small detail like that stop him.

"You may not believe me," he begins slowly, "but since I woke up here, Kira has been trying to...take over my mind, for lack of a better term." He places his own chin in his hands, mirroring L for dramatic emphasis. "And I think he wants me to kill you."

"How terrifying," L drawls. "Should I hide the knives?"

Light tries to hide his flinch - unsuccessfully, by the rekindled glow of interest in L's eyes. "I'm serious," he says, desperately trying to urge L to listen. "You _have_ to believe me."

"Your prior actions would suggest that it would be wise to believe you," the detective says dryly.

Light glares at him. "You're not listening. That wasn't _me._ That was Kira. We're two different people."

L returns to his breakfast concoction, shaking his head slowly as he sips. "So Kira-kun is saying that he is not actually Kira - in contrast to how vehemently he's been justifying his actions for the past while - and somehow expects me to believe him?"

"Look, I know that I did those things," Light begins. "I can't abdicate responsibility for them. But my _personality_ is different from Kira's. I-I don't want to kill you!"

The detective's eyebrows rise. "Really?"

"No!" He casts about for a valid reason, seizes L's own words. "It's like you said. We're friends!"

"So you're saying that after getting to know me, you no longer wish to kill me?" The detective thinks about it for a second, clearly surprised. "I have to admit, that is a new one for me. Usually it's the other way around."

"L, this isn't something to joke about," he says urgently.

"I disagree. But for the sake of argument, let us assume that you are not, as a less excruciatingly polite man might say, completely full of shit." L steamrolls right over Light's indignant protests. "You hear Kira's voice while you are asleep?"

"Not exactly," Light says slowly. "I think he appears when I'm distracted. I don't hear him when we're arguing, most of the time. Or when we were playing tennis."

"Tennis." L smirks. "So all I had to do to distract Kira-kun from his merciless murder spree was to play more tennis? If only I had known." He raises a placating hand at Light's ferocious glare. "My apologies, Kira-kun. So while we are on cases, you are safe from Kira's menace?"

He thinks of open drawers that should have remained shut, of flashes of unexplained anger that are and aren't his at the same time. "Not always," he admits.

"Hmmm." With a shrug, L clambers out of his seat.

"Where are you going?" Light demands.

"We are going to track down that observant backpacker. Mark."

"Haven't you heard a single word I just said?" he asks incredulously.

L tilts his head. "Are you distracted now, Kira-kun?"

"No," he says grudgingly.

"And you are unlikely to _become_ distracted while sitting around and wallowing with the voices in your head. Therefore, we might as well accomplish something with our day while waiting for Kira to make his appearance." He lopes towards the door, only pausing once to call over his shoulder. "Are you coming, Kira-kun?"

Light gapes at him for a moment before pushing his plate to the side. "Oh, what the hell." His pace as he hurries to catch up to L is most certainly _not_ rushed, or undignified, or full of pitiful relief.

This definitely will *not* be fun.

***

It's easy enough to track someone down, even an itinerant backpacker, if you know what you're doing. Which they do.

After a few discreet inquiries at hostels in the vicinity of their former hotel - and several lies about returning a lost wallet to one of their friends - they soon find the place where Arthur, Mark, and their merry band of backpackers are staying. Light eyes L suspiciously as he pushes open the door, half-expecting him to pull a scrap of paper with Mark's address out of his pocket and, with false surprise, innocently claim that he'd forgotten he had it all this time. But even if L really did have that information, he's not telling.

"Hello," L says to the bored-looking woman at the front desk. "We called ahead earlier. Is Mark Leavenworth in? We've got his wallet here." He holds up a familiar leather object, spinning it so that it dangles between two fingers. Light hisses as he pats his pocket reflexively; finds it empty. _Of course he couldn't just use his own wallet,_ he muses resentfully. _Maybe he really_ does _want to drive me mad._

"One moment," the woman drones, punching a few keys with the tip of one finger. She shrugs. "He's checked in. Don't know if he's still here. You never know, with these types."

"Just tell us where his room is, then, and we'll leave the wallet there," L prompts.

The woman releases a put-upon sigh. "I'll take you to his dorm," she grumbles, levering her bulk out of the tiny office chair she's crammed herself into. "Never mind the inconvenience, or nothing. It's not like I'm old, or have better things to do." 

"Really?" L says, eyes widening in mild surprise. "That would not be my assessment at all."

The woman gives L a nasty glare, but grabs a set of keys from one of the hooks behind her and sullenly marches off down the hall anyways. With a guileless smile offering no hint of the endless pools of deceit within, L walks after her.

Light feels oddly adrift as he follows the odd pair - arms leaden, feet treading through water - but he follows them regardless. Unburdened of his secrets, a strange fatalism envelopes him. He feels as if he is moving towards inevitability; towards something that can't be taken back.

It's nice, having the luxury of feeling dramatic again.

"Here we are," the woman says as she unlocks the door. "In and out, yeah?"

"In and out," L says agreeably. A scowl is the only response he gets as the door swings wide.

"You!" an astonished voice bellows out from within.

"Me," L says, still smiling affably.

Light stands in the doorway; watches Aiber stretch, yawning exaggeratedly as he scratches his nose. In the background, there appears to be lots of shouting - something about a phone bill - but he only has eyes for the ghost on the bed. Once, he was a minor inconvenience. Now, he's the herald of something far, far worse.

Does L see him, too? "Aiber," he says, little more than a whisper. It's drowned out easily by the squabbling - he'll have to try harder to get L's attention. "Aiber!"

Aiber sits up, long face twisted with annoyance, swings off the bed - and as the sunlight passes over his face, he _changes_ right in front of Light's eyes, cheeks filling with ruddy color, chin shrinking into weakness, fat filling out so that his lean limbs round to a slight plumpness. "It's Arthur," the backpacker says in a wounded tone. "Honestly, the very least you could do is be a bit grateful."

"I think Aiber would be rather insulted, Kira-kun," L says, breaking away from his argument to assess Arthur's Crocs-with-sandals combination with a critical eye.

"I'm not crazy." Light isn't quite sure who he's trying to convince, but he forges forward anyways. "He was here! I saw him transform - there must be something odd about him, you can check-"

L considers this for a moment, then shrugs, wandering over towards Arthur. Experimentally, he waves a hand in front of the man's blank eyes. "Something other than his complete detachment from this conversation, you mean?"

"Man, you guys are weird," the backpacker sighs. He obviously doesn't know even half of it.

Something else strikes him as odd about the situation. "Don't you have anything to say about this?" Light demands, turning towards Mark.

"Me?" Mark says, momentarily baffled, then draws himself up, marshaling his anger. "Yeah, I do, actually! What do *you* have to say about these ridiculous long-distance charges? We finally convinced those guys we didn't actually know you, and now you just turn up out of nowhere! You'd better pay that bill-"

"Fine," Light says impatiently, cutting him off before he can really start building up steam. "Just give us the bill, and we'll take care of it."

Mark gapes at him. "Y-you will?"

L swivels around, eyes round. "We will?"

Light gives him a withering look. _Obviously not._

L nods approvingly. "How deviously cunning of you, Kira-kun! I always knew you had the heart of a true criminal."

Light's glare intensifies - it's as if this idiot doesn't actually want the other idiot to finally shut up - but, oddly enough, the previously observant Mark has nothing to say about their unsubtle exchange. Instead, he busies himself with digging through a pile of papers stuffed haphazardly in his backpack until, at last, he pulls out a crumpled and grease-stained sheet of paper and thrusts it towards Light. "Here you go!"

Light takes it gingerly, pinching it between forefinger and thumb in an uncomfortably L-like manner. "Thank you," he manages to say, already looking forward to tonight's shower.

L chuckles, a low, hoarse sound that sends a shockingly warm jolt through his spine. "Have your elegant manners finally returned, Kira-kun?"

"Oh, shut up," he says, but he's _distracted_ now, and his heart isn't really in it. Instead, he tosses L a new bone to busy himself with. "I'm more interested in the fact that Mark's observational skills seem to have fled."

"Hmmmm." L stares at the man with renewed interest. "What do you think about Kira-kun's assertion that your well-rounded young friend here is actually a 35-year old Frenchman with devastatingly prominent cheekbones and a penchant for massive confidence schemes?"

"Oh, come on," Light snaps, irritated. "His cheekbones were hardly devastating. They were...unfortunately bony, if anything."

"No, 'devastatingly prominent' sounds about right," L muses, and Light grits his teeth. "But that's besides the point." He looks at Mark expectantly. "Well?"

The backpacker appears to be completely lost for words. "...You guys are really weird," he finally says, shaking his head.

"You don't seem that bothered by it," L points out.

"Nah."

"But you _were_ bothered by our appearance in the forest, yes?"

"Well, yeah, obviously." Mark eyes L warily. "I mean, your story was pretty shady...and you guys didn't really seem particularly trustworthy, so..."

"I have to concur," L says, nodding solemnly. "Tell me, which one of us did you think was _more_ trustworthy?"

"I mean, neither of you were..." L's face droops with exaggerated sorrow, and he hurriedly backtracks. "Uh. I mean. You, I guess? I mean, your friend kind of looked like a wreck, no offense-"

"What?!" Light snaps out of his quiet seething, unable to ignore an insult like that. "I'd just _died_ , you moron! Try being a little more sensitive!"

"See?" Mark says, taking a cautious step back. "Like I said. Weird."

"You've been very helpful," L says, surprisingly graciously. "Thank you for your time." He heads towards the exit, and Light, after one last glare, follows.

"'You've been very helpful,'" Light mimics as they walk down the hallway, scowling. "Those dolts could not have been any less helpful if they'd tried."

"But they weren't trying," L points out. "Interesting, isn't it? When we first met him, Mark seemed to be possessed of a slightly keener mind than the rest of the people we have met here. Which is, admittedly, a low bar, but the effort should still be acknowledged. And now? Both of those backpackers sounded like failed attempts at replicating a master chef's strawberry cake."

"Like they were unable to register things properly," Light says, frowning. "As if their senses were impaired, perhaps - or their emotions?"

"Like they were improvisational actors, failing to play a part," L muses, and the bottom drops out of Light's stomach.

"You think that this is some sort of set-up," he says numbly. "Like a hallucination-" It might not be real, any of it; his blood might still be mingling with dust on a darkened warehouse floor, he might still be dying alone and unable to realize it-

"I think that we are stagnant." L's voice is calm, measured; slows his racing thoughts. "I believe that nothing here ultimately changes to any appreciable degree, beyond a narrow range of prescribed events. It explains why the landscape is the same as when _I_ died, several years ago. It explains why most people fail to notice us, or insults proclaimed directly to their faces."

"Nothing changes, except for us," Light says slowly.

To his slight surprise, L shakes his head. "No. Nothing changes."

"That's not true," Light argues. "We're changing. We- _I've_ changed."

"No, Kira-kun," L says, surprisingly gently. "You would like to think that you've changed. That's why you've invented this pleasant fiction of Kira being a separate entity in your head. You want to think that you have the capacity for change. But you really haven't."

"If I was really Kira, do you honestly think I would tell you that my alter ego was planning on killing you?" he snaps.

"You might," L says, meeting his eyes. "There is nothing that you _wouldn't_ do to achieve your goals, Kira-kun."

"You don't know that," he protests, ignoring the guilt lying leaden in the hollows of his chest. L wasn't there at the end. He couldn't possibly know. He can't ever know.

L considers the matter for a few moments, tilting his head thoughtfully. "I suppose you're right, Kira-kun. I don't."

He is on the verge of saying something witty and urbane, a perfect counterpoint to what has been a disturbingly panic-inducing conversation - but then a flash of blonde hair swings in the corner of his vision, and his eyes widen with horror and he squawks and he drags L out of sight, behind a tree.

"What is Kira-kun doing?" L says, eyes wide.

"Quiet!" Light hisses. "She'll see us!" He risks a peek around the trunk, and there she is, not just a passing vision this time. Misa's cross-shaped earrings swing in time with her blond pigtails as she cranes her neck, standing on her tiptoes as she searches the crowd for them. For him.

"She looks a little like Misa-Misa," L whispers conspiratorially into his ear, and he hisses with surprise, nearly breaking cover. "Why are we hiding?"

"I don't want her to find us," he says truthfully, turning to face L. When he turns his head back, she is gone, not even a hint of black lace remaining. He lets out a relieved breath, leaning back against the tree. "I _can_ change. I'm not Kira any more."

L frowns, puzzled. "But you do not regret what you did." It's not a question.

"Of course not! I did the right thing. But-" Three names. Maybe more - maybe, maybe - "But maybe there are some things I should have tried harder not to give up."

L's eyebrows shoot up, then draw back down as he studies Light's face. "I think you are right, Kira-kun," he says solemnly. "I think there is something very, very wrong with you."

Light stares at L's thick hair, perpetually untamed; the slight snub of his nose, the subtle downturn at one corner of his lips. The devastatingly prominent cheekbones of his angular face.

Light squeezes his eyes shut, resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands. "I know," is all he says.


	8. Crossfire

Light tells himself that this is a perfectly natural reaction. It's because of the stress of death, a desperate clinging to the familiar; it's a displaced sense of excitement, the thrill of a rematch with an adversary who was his first and only equal. (Near doesn't count, he tells himself - he had outside knowledge from L, Near _never_ counted - and it's only now that he stops to wonder, why not?)

It's Stockholm Syndrome. It's some sort of unlife-induced physiological need. It's part of an ongoing psychological breakdown as Kira rampages through his mind.

It's anything, other than what it is.

He tries being charming, flashing the same half-smile that melted so many hearts a lifetime ago as he leans forward in a practiced expression of interest. This is just for you, his body language says. _You should feel special - you should be grateful for my attention-_

"This hotel is surprisingly pleasant," he says. "Was it like this in life, as well?"

L eyes the pile of wilted lettuce pushed gracefully to the side of Light's plate suspiciously. "This place is a dump, Kira-kun. Is it that you feel comfortable among the assorted thugs and goons? Or are your standards simply just that low?"

His smile doesn't flicker, but it's a close thing. "I find our situation to be both interesting and unprecedented. There are many possibilities here that would lend themselves to future exploration."

L's scowl deepens. "Who died and made you so cheerful?"

Charm doesn't work on the charmless, evidently.

***

He tries ignoring L, pretending that he doesn't exist. To his outrage, L doesn't seem particularly bothered by the silence. This is beneficial, in that it encourages Light to stubbornly cling to his plan. This is not beneficial, in that it is incredibly boring.

Unfortunately, pride or not, his plans are utterly dashed to pieces by the simple fact that he's forgotten how damnably irritating L is when he has access to any sort of keyboard. After what certainly feels like three hours, if not more, he finally cracks. Groaning, he tosses his blankets off, sitting up to glare at L. "You know, there's a saying that some people have. 'I'll sleep when I'm dead.'" L raises an eyebrow expectantly, face lit eerily by the glare of his laptop screen. Light's voice steadily rises in pitch. "Well, we're finally dead now, so when are you going to bloody well sleep?"

L expertly deflects the pillow Light throws at him with a bare-toed punt, sending it back towards him. He stares at the spinning pillow in horror for a few moments - which side did L's foot touch? "Ah, Kira-kun!" L says brightly. "Please accept my apologies. The lack of your usually constant whining led me to believe that you were asleep already."

"I would like to know what is so damned important," Light growls, "that it can't wait till morning." 

"Candy Crush, obviously," L says, staring blankly at him, and Kira's will be damned, Light very nearly strangles him entirely of his own volition.

L snickers rudely at the rage on his features. "In actuality, I was examining Google Earth to check for any incongruities or new landmarks." 

Despite himself, he has to ask. "Have you found anything?" 

"Not yet," the detective admits. With a sudden jerk, he extends the laptop towards Light. "Perhaps Kira-kun would have better luck examining Japan?"

Hissing, Light shields his eyes from the incandescent glare. "In the _morning_ , L," he says wearily. "When we've both had a chance to sleep." 

"I shall defer to Kira-kun's delicate constitution," L says promptly. To Light's shock, he taps a button, dimming the harsh light to a manageable soft glow, then tilts the screen away from Light and resumes typing, much quieter than before. _Silence is counterproductive,_ is his last coherent thought before he sinks into oblivion.

***

He tries pretending as if nothing is different. It's hard to, though, when he's staring numbly at a street that he knows is _wrong_ , that leads him out of the frying pan and straight into another topic that he'd vastly prefer to avoid. "Well, Kira-kun?" 

"My house is gone," he says, although he's sure that L already knows. He wouldn't have needed three hours just to pore over a map of London, no matter how detailed. But he says it anyways. 

L peeks at the screen, humming thoughtfully. "Why did Kira-kun stay with his parents? I would have thought that he would have welcomed the freedom to engage in nefarious activities without supervision." 

"I didn't." Light frowns, quickly checking the address of his most recent residence. "I moved in with Misa. The apartment is still there, and it looks the same. Although," he says, frowning thoughtfully, "if the buildings here look the same as when you died five years ago, perhaps-" 

L wrinkles his nose at the modern, sleek facade of the building. "It looks rather sterile, Kira-kun. It suits your personality. A recent construction?" 

He shakes his head. "The building was a year old when I bought the place, so no. I did, however, check several new developments near our old headquarters - that building is gone too, by the way - and those seem to be present, despite only having been built within the past couple of years." 

"Hmm," L says, deep in thought. "So is it the apartment which was unimportant to you? Or was it poor Misa?" 

"First of all, there is no 'poor Misa,'" Light snaps. "She was the second Kira, as you well know. She got everything she ever wanted." 

L gives Light a curious look, then shakes his head. "Somehow, I doubt that." 

In what is becoming a far-too-familiar move, Light changes the subject. "So Japan looks the same way as it did when I died, and London the same way as when you died. This suggests deliberation. Perhaps someone, or something, has constructed this world in a specific manner." 

"Kira-kun obviously has something specific in mind," L says dryly. 

"The shinigami," he says. "It makes perfect sense. The deliberate targeting - the multiple crimes-" 

"None of which involve death, but all of which do put Kira-kun firmly at the center of the universe." 

Light's eyes narrow. "There is a limit to how far coincidences can stretch, L."

"I am not suggesting that this is a coincidence." L meets his eyes calmly. "I am suggesting that the more important question is: why?" 

Light knows at least one shinigami whose answer would be: _why not?_ Still, he can't imagine Ryuk planning something like this. "Perhaps we are meant to find something," he says slowly. "To solve a series of escalating crimes until we find out why we are here." 

"So Kira-kun believes that the reason why we are here is to determine the reason we are here? How typically circular of you." 

"You're the one who delights in leading people around in circles." 

"An ironic accusation, from one whose circular reasoning is almost mazelike in its level of self-deception." 

"Hollow words." Light is very aware of how close L is standing to him. Each fold and wrinkle of his jacket, which looks damn good even with the sleeves rolled far past where fashion would dictate; each unruly strand of hair falling across his face, brushing his cheekbones. He's hated him; he should hate him, still - but all he can think about is need, need, _need_ that licks his spine with tongues of agonizing flame, twisting sharp and deep within him until it hurts more than pleasure; aches more than pain. "Hollow words," he says, voice rough, "for someone who enjoys jerking people around so much." 

L blinks at him languidly. "Ninety-nine point two-eight percent, Kira-kun." 

He rolls his eyes. "Your arbitrary numbers prove my point-" 

"The 0.2%," L says placidly, "is for your dubious claim that you have a murderous split personality. Without the 'split', I would understand, but..." 

Light knows he shouldn't ask, but he does anyway. "And the 0.08%?" 

"That is for your lame attempt at a comeback," L says, shaking his head. "I am disappointed in you, Kira-kun."

"Lame?" he says indignantly, clutching at the familiar. "Don't try and blame me for your poor taste in wordplay-" 

"It was a halfhearted stretch, at best," L says, stifling a yawn, and he freezes for a moment. There is no way that L can know - his social acumen is far less than Light's, surely, even in this circumstance. 

"Since you only have half a heart, I thought it appropriate," he retorts, and does his best to concentrate on their bickering this time. He's not sure whether it's relief he feels as they fall back into their old, familiar patterns, or disappointment.

***

Matsuda's eyes are closed. His face is slack, his arms are splayed wide; the bullet hole in his chest has soaked his suit liberally with dark red blood. Light swallows hard as he stares at his features. "Do you see something?" L says curiously. Light squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them again. To his horror, Matsuda is still lying there, unchanged. If L saw him, too, he would certainly say something - unless he wouldn't - 

"Matsuda," Light says. "I see Matsuda."

L frowns dubiously at the body. "Hmm. Perhaps the hair, but I must say that I hardly see the resemblance." 

He looks away, this time counting to three before he turns back. Still no change. He frowns. "This time, it's not-" With a rattling gasp, the body's eyes pop open. Red froth bubbles on his lips as he desperately tries to speak, to say a single word. L moves instantly, pressing a plastic bag into Light's hands. 

"Shot in the lung. Still alive. Seal it." Before Light can muster any sort of response, he's gone. Light's left there, pressing a convenience store plastic bag against Matsuda's sodden chest, looking into his panicked and desperate eyes. It's uncomfortably like looking at a mirror, and he tries to focus on something else, but all he can feel is the contrast between the wetness at his wrist and the smooth plastic beneath his palm. 

"Don't try to talk," he tells Matsuda. "It'll only make things worse." He should know that, better than anyone. "You're going to be okay," he adds. It's been so long since he's genuinely tried to comfort someone. He wonders if Matsuda can tell. "I couldn't believe it was you that shot me," he whispers as the victim's eyes slide slowly shut. "Never thought you had it in you." He hesitates. "I hope that your - that _our_ team is doing well, now that I'm dead." Matsuda's features shimmer slightly in response. His face begins to round out; his cheeks begin to sag. Light knows that he should be angry at Matsuda for killing him. He should be shocked, betrayed, repelled - just as Matsuda had been, when he'd discovered the truth. But for now, at least, Matsuda is slipping away, and he's running out of time. His eyes blur, and he closes them again. "I'm sorry I let our team down," he says out loud. 

"Don't be so dramatic, Kira-kun. He's not dead yet." Light's eyes snap open, darting from the dying man on the floor - Chinese, mid-forties, heavy-jowled and really not looking very much like Matsuda at all, aside from his thick head of hair - to L, leaning against the wall as a pinch-faced man, flanked by hotel thugs, moves to the victim's side.

"I'll take care of it from here," the man says briskly, pulling a pair of gloves on. 

"Hang on," Light says warily. "What does that mean-"

"He is the hotel doctor," L says placidly, taking Light by the elbow and steering him out of the room. 

"Doctor? He looks like he steals organs for a living," Light snaps. 

"What about the hospital-" 

L's already shaking his head, and he knows why. The hospital means questions. It means police. 

Light sighs. "What sort of a hotel is this, anyways?" 

"You're the one who likes it here so much, Kira-kun," L says waspishly. "You tell me." 

Light glares at him. "I can't believe you're all right with this." Although perhaps he *can* believe it. All that matters to L is the mystery, not the suffering of those trapped within it. L rolls his eyes.

"It is not in the best interest of the hotel to draw attention to its activities with a death on the premises. Mr. Shan will be saved. Besides, even if the doctor is incompetent, he won't die." 

"The wound is serious without treatment-" 

"No," L explains patiently. "He will not die, because then this would be a _murder._ Not merely an attempted murder." 

Ah. The theory of deliberate escalation. "So murder would be the ultimate conclusion?" 

"Or several murders," L says, shrugging. "Or mass murder. Who knows? Perhaps a second Kira will end up as our opponent. This would certainly be fertile ground for them." Light shudders, truly hoping that *that* will not end up as a possibility. Something bothers him about what L's been saying, though. 

"You said that the victim was named Shan. How did you know his name?" 

"As I see it, we have two options in this case," L says, nimbly dodging the question. "One," he says, tapping Light's nose with a long, elegant finger, "is that we simply wait for Mr. Shan to recover and name his would-be murderer. Two-" A second finger joins the first. "-we demonstrate our extreme competence by ignoring that completely boring solution and solve the case while he is in recovery." 

Light sighs. "You stole his identification, didn't you." 

"I borrowed it," L says, pulling the wallet from his pocket and spinning it idly in his hand. "Of course, if Kira-kun has a moral objection-" 

"Oh, just give me the damn wallet," Light snaps, ignoring L's knowing smirk. Victor Shan - aged 48 - has a very unflattering drivers' license picture. The license itself looks new - the listed address is probably accurate. There is no money inside the wallet, although several rows of credit cards, as well as his bank card, remain untouched. There is, however, a crumpled mass of receipts haphazardly stuffed into the area where bills would normally be kept. Light smooths them out, carefully sifting through the pile as he leans against the wall. He does his best to ignore L's constant shuffling as he contorts his body to peer at the receipts. "A lot of receipts for Lucky Dragon takeout," Light notes. 

"Assassination by cardiovascular disease would be far less detectable," L says, nodding. Light rolls his eyes, tossing those back in the wallet. "Petrol, more takeout, two-year old movie tickets - aha!" Light holds up a scrap of paper triumphantly. "A mysterious phone number. Unlabeled. Looks more recent than the rest." 

"Interesting," L says. "He didn't have a cellphone on him, when I searched his pockets." 

"Looks like it's the only thing out of place here," Light says, frowning. 

"There is also this picture," L says, pointing to a worn photo tucked behind a clear plastic window in the wallet. A young Victor Shan grins proudly as he stands behind a ten-year old girl clutching a plaque of some sort in her hands. A woman's hand and arm are visible at Victor's side, just barely escaping the curved cut that had clearly torn the picture in two at some point. 

"Ex-wife - or girlfriend - and daughter, I suppose," Light says guardedly. 

"Possible suspect and daughter," L corrects him. 

"It's an old picture. The separation could have happened decades ago." 

"Animosity," L counters, "has no time limit. Especially if something happened to renew it." 

Anything is possible, he supposes. "All right," he says, shrugging. "Shall we get started?" L's already shuffling down the hall.

***

Mr. Shan is clearly not a privacy-minded man. His social media profiles are completely public, albeit somewhat sparse. "The ex-wife's name is Rebecca, maiden name Cheng," Light says, scrolling through Mr. Shan's feed. "His daughter's name is Gloria, although her profile is private. Looks like she's in her mid-twenties, from her face and clothing." 

"He has the ex-wife as a social connection?" L says, cocking his head. 

"No, there's one photo on his account that his daughter tagged both him and the ex in," Light says, tilting the laptop screen so that L can see it. 

"Putting a tentative separation date of over a decade ago," L muses. 

"Assuming that he kept that photo in his wallet because it was the only physical one available and not because of a particular sentimental attachment," Light counters. "He could have just printed off one of his daughter's pictures from his social media, if he really wanted to."

"Maybe," L says, shrugging. "He certainly had a lot of time to do so, if he wished. It seems as if he was newly unemployed. His professional account activity suggests that he quit, or was fired, from his former position two months ago." 

"What did he do?" Light asks, craning his neck to peer at the small screen of the basic phone he and L share. 

"He was an accountant, apparently, with a reputable and large firm." L frowns. "Details on what exactly he did are sparse. We will have to obtain them from his former employers." 

"L, we're not real detectives any more," Light says, exasperated. "We can't just walk up and ask for that information." 

"Yes, we can," L says. "If we phrase our questions innocuously enough, I estimate a 92.7% chance that they will not even register the discrepancy enough to care." 

He has to admit that L has a point. "So are we starting there?" 

"No," L says, extending a keyring towards Light. "Victor Shan had two things in his pockets - his wallet and his keys. We should use both of them to their fullest advantage." 

Light considers protesting. He decides that it isn't worth the effort. "Let's just go," he says wearily. "I'll look up a route-" 

"No need, Kira-kun. His car's a newer model. It will have GPS." 

"We're stealing his car?" Light says incredulously. 

"We are borrowing his car," L clarifies, "to save his life. Would Kira-kun kill us for this offense? Or would it be considered as an acceptable tradeoff?" 

"You know very well that I didn't kill people for theft," Light says, exasperated. 

"Very well," L says, nodding. "Would you kill someone who had committed murder in order to save someone else?" 

"Are we really doing this right now?" Light demands. 

"Are you following me towards the parking garage right now?" L counters. 

They're already at the elevators. _Damn him._

"We don't *need* to take his car," he argues. 

"If he's not actually a real person, does it matter?" 

"I think we should act as if it does matter," Light says, straightening up. 

L shrugs, pressing the elevator button. "Fine. Don't come with me, if you find it so objectionable." 

And that's all he has to say, because Light knows what he'd object to more.

***

The ride over is surprisingly smooth. Light hadn't known that L knew how to drive. He looks different when he's not slouching, forced into uprightness by the curve of the driver's seat. He seems competent, actually, even though his bare feet on the pedals constitute a sanitary nightmare. It's a good look. So Light does his best to avoid looking at it. 

His distraction persists long after they've entered Victor Shan's apartment; weighs uncomfortably on his shoulders as he sifts through neatly cataloged bills and far less neatly arranged memorabilia. 

"Where does Kira-kun think we should start?" 

"You're asking me for my input now?" Light says dryly. He reconsiders the wisdom of this remark almost immediately. "The ex-wife probably knows nothing useful," he says crisply, cutting L off before he can protest. "There is no indication that they have kept in contact at all. Even birthday cards are signed only with the daughter's name. He kept all of those, though. We should start with the daughter. She would be aware of any personal issues that may have prompted his job loss." 

"Assuming he shared that information with her." 

"They kept in touch with weekly letters." Light gestures towards the carefully maintained box of cards and letters in Mr. Shan's closet. "He saved everything she ever gave him, which looks like quite a lot. If they were close, he may have confided in her." 

L cocks his head. "Unless the problem was something he didn't want her to know." 

Light shrugs. "Which will also provide useful information." 

L hums, nodding. "And this?" 

Light glances at the calendar book L thrusts out at him, scanning the neat lines of figures for thoroughness' sake. He's already flipped through the book once before, though, and he's pretty sure what it is. "His money troubles started about half a year before his job loss, it looks like," he says. "Judging by the way the numbers increase, I'm guessing debts. Perhaps gambling, or some other sort of obligation?" 

L tucks the book under his arm, still uncharacteristically compliant. "Perhaps," he says neutrally. 

Light's eyes narrow. "You can't seriously be trying to pretend that you've already solved the case."

"I don't need to pretend." L's voice is far more smug than it has any right to be. "Does Kira-kun really not have any theories?"

"You're hardly within the proper spirit of co-operation, you know," Light snaps, voice just a little sharper than he'd intended. "What information do you have that I don't?"

"None," L says, then tilts his head again, considering. "But perhaps it is only fair. After all, I am the better detective."

Light snorts. "I managed your job with one hand tied behind my back for five years-"

"That is because you are the better criminal," L says frankly. "As I said, *I* am the better detective."

Oh, how he hates him. How he wants to slide under L's skin half as easily as L does to him; how he wants to pin him against the wall and _make_ him spill his secrets-

Light takes a deep breath. "Oh, yeah? Prove it."

"Very well," L says mildly. "My theory is based on three main points of evidence. First: there are no unused envelopes to be found in his office, or the apartment. Second: seven months ago, there was a large round of layoffs at Mr. Shan's former company, as noted in his calendar book. Third: the uncategorized phone number in his wallet."

Light reaches out a hand, taking the calendar book back. Sure enough, a brief fragment of a newspaper clipping is taped to the inside, with the number of fired employees and the words "realized efficiencies" circled several times in bright red pen. Could Mr. Shan have ended up as one of those numbers? Could his salary have been cut, resulting in the need to go into debt to stay afloat? There was a distinct lack of recently written checks in his bankbook.

"Did you call the number?" he asks L. The detective nods.

"It was the number of headquarters for Pizza Express."

Light frowns. "You're having me on."

"Never," L says passionately, shuddering. "There is nothing remotely sweet - and therefore, interesting - about pizza."

Light sighs. There must be some sort of connection he's missing. Perhaps there was some detail about the body that he'd overlooked while hallucinating Matsuda's image? "The daughter first, then," he says, trying his best to sound casual.

L flashes him a knowing smirk. "The daughter first, then. I'll drive. After all, I'm already in the lead." He slips past Light, nimbly darting out the apartment door before Light can really do something drastic. More's the pity.

***

L was right, as much as he hates to admit it. Gloria Shan doesn't even ask to see their credentials when they show up on her doorstep. She doesn't seem particularly surprised that they're there, either.

"This is about my dad, isn't it?" is the first thing she says. And then, next: "Is he okay?"

"We hope so," Light says soothingly. He's finally managed to claw his status as 'the one with better social skills' back, and he'll be damned if he lets it go without a fight. "Why did you think we were here about your father?"

"He...he didn't answer my letters," Gloria whispers, looking down. She flushes slightly. "I-I know it sounds stupid. We were still chatting online, sometimes, but-but he always used to say our letters were the best part of his week. Then they just started getting shorter and shorter, and then a whole two weeks went without a letter, and then-" She dashes the back of her hand across her eyes. "Sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm not usually like this."

"Take your time," Light says, though he's internally gritting his teeth at the thought of L's lead on him growing further and further.

"Thank you," she says gratefully. "I-I didn't get your name, Officer-"

"When did his letters stop?" L's voice is as placid as ever, but the brusqueness of the question obviously throws her off balance. Still, Gloria recovers well enough, even though her answers are interrupted by quite a few sniffles.

"Maybe...two months ago? No-I've got it here, I can show you!" She rummages through a pile of mail at the bottom of her coffee table, scattering papers far and wide before triumphantly seizing a folded sheet of paper. "Just look at this!" she cries, unfurling the letter and waving it in front of their faces. "Look at his _handwriting!_ It's terrible! It's all shaky - he never writes like this! And there's barely a couple paragraphs worth of stuff, and half of it is some sort of paranoid rambling about how his boss is out to get him-"

"Let me see," both Light and L say together. L manages to grab the letter while Light is busy glaring at him.

"Daniel is out to get me," L reads in a deadpan voice. "I know it. I know it. I know it. He is sharpening knives in the backroom." L frowns. "That seems like an egregious breach of safety standards."

"Just move on, L," Light hisses, glancing at Gloria's tearful face.

L shrugs, resuming his monotone narration. "Daniel is looking at me funny and I think he knows something I don't. They are going to let me go. I tried but it wasn't enough. I'm sorry."

"That sounds serious," Light says. He means 'promising', but he's sure L will pick up on it. As long as he doesn't say it out loud.

"The thing was, I messaged him after and he sounded completely fine," Gloria says tearfully. "He-he sounded so upbeat and happy over text. Said everything was going to be okay. I should have called someone - I should have insisted he stop cancelling our dinners-"

"What was the reason he gave for cancelling?" L asks abruptly.

Gloria shrugs. "He...he didn't really give one. He just kept claiming he forgot. I know he'd never do that, but I wanted to believe him, because I-I didn't want to think it was because he didn't really want to meet me..." L nods and sits back, evidently satisfied.

Light isn't satisfied in the slightest. The evidence obviously implicates Victor Shan's former boss - or perhaps his colleagues - but it's neat. Too neat. Besides, even though high stress brought about by the layoffs might have accounted for his lack of contact with his daughter, what would be the motive for his colleagues to resort to murder? And what about the final clue that L had given him - the ridiculous Pizza Express phone number?

He tries sending out a feeler in a completely different direction. "What about your mother?" he asks.

Gloria looks stricken. "Oh, god. I'll have to ring her and tell her, won't I?" Her shoulders droop. "I don't really know if she'll care, that much. It sounds horrible to say, but they haven't spoken at all in so many years beyond the usual pleasantries. I-maybe I'll wait till she gets back from Rio..."

"How long has she been there?" Light asks urgently.

"Just over a week," Gloria says. "She's meant to come back in just a couple of days. I don't know if she'd know anything that could help you..."

So the mother is cleanly out. It's still too neat. Light can't help being suspicious.

"Your father had a cold?"

Both Light and Gloria turn towards L. Gloria Shan blinks, astonished. "I-I don't see why...well, yes, I suppose. He had the most awful sniffles when we last met. Why do you ask?"

L ignores her, smirking at Light. "Ninety-nine point seven three five percent sure, Kira-kun."

Light sighs. "Thank you for your time. I hope we'll have better news for you soon." He eyes L cautiously. Perhaps the answer is more obvious than he thinks it is? "We will speak to his colleagues, I suppose," he says slowly. "Including this 'Daniel.'"

L nods serenely. "I wouldn't begrudge you any extra clues, Kira-kun. Shall we?"

Light insists on driving, this time. He feels pretty good about it, right up until the moment when L swings into the back seat and proceeds to compliment him on his skills as a chauffeur for the entire ride. "You missed your true calling, Kira-kun. Oh, but that turn was far too sharp. You are only 1.9 carlengths away from the driver in front of you, Kira-kun."

Light isn't sure if L really is a backseat driver, or if he truly just hates Light that much. Still, considering the murderous thoughts running through his head every time L points out a minor error, he certainly hadn't chosen the wrong profession after all.

***

"What's this all about?" Daniel Corleone, head of Mr. Shan's former department, squints suspiciously at the two of them. Other than the multiple frown lines engraved unforgivingly into his high forehead, his only other distinguishing features are his watery blue eyes and short, stubby fingers.

Light would never normally be so reckless, but L is *really* starting to get on his nerves - in multiple ways - and it's not as if the inhabitants of this unlife are likely to raise a fuss, regardless. Instead of answering, he pushes Mr. Shan's last letter across the desk. Daniel scowls as he picks it up, forehead wrinkling even further as he catches sight of his name.

"What's this? A letter from Victor?" He snorts, pushing it back towards Light and L. "Don't waste your time with this. He was unreliable. I had to let him go. End of story."

Light slides the letter back. "Not unreliable enough to fire him during the mass layoffs seven months ago."

Daniel sighs. "Look, I don't know what happened to him. He was a good guy back then. A good employee. I guess the stress got to him or somethin'. Sure, he was doin' way more work, but we _all_ had to! That was the job! These're tough times, and you either sink or swim."

"Victor Shan was shot in the chest earlier this morning. It pierced a lung," Light says bluntly, borrowing a tactic from L's playbook. "Looks like he sank."

Daniel pales. "Oh. Oh, oh, oh man. Look, I didn't have nothin' to do with that. He's..." He pauses, swallowing nervously. "He's really dead?"

Light debates whether or not to give him any information, but no matter what, the victim is out of anyone's hands but that back-alley mafia doctor's now. "Not yet," is all he says.

Daniel sags in relief. "That's good. Okay, here's the low-down. Everyone was left holding the bag for two or three other people when the layoffs happened. I think Victor cracked under the stress. For the first few months, he was doin' great! He had so much energy. I'd never seen him like that. But then he started to get _weird._ He was anxious all the time. Flew off the handle if the stapler was out, that sort of thing. Got distracted - makin' calls at strange times, dashing out of work at five on the dot, no matter how much work there was - and then there was that damnable sniffle, and the paranoia! Look at this!" He slaps the letter with one hand. "Does this look like a stable mind to you? I tried to give him every chance to quit those things, but it got to be too much! I had to let him go!"

_'Those things?'_ Light frowns as the pieces fall into place. The mystery number - the ledger of increasing quantities - his erratic behavior; the energy-

"He was on drugs," he says flatly.

"I didn't tell him to go and do that," Daniel says pleadingly. "You have to believe me. I told him so many times to smarten up. I thought he'd listen -he'd never done anything like that before. I mean, cocaine? Hell of a drug, but he had to have been taking it like candy, you know?"

Light turns towards L. "You knew it from the envelopes," he breathes. "He was in debt from his bank statements, and the numbers in the ledger indicated increasing payments for something. The lack of envelopes - uncharacteristic for someone who was so accustomed to writing to his daughter - indicated great carelessness, or addiction to something that overpowered all else. And we know what sort of deals occur in the Winged Victoria-"

"There was also a distinct lack of betting slips, cards, or anything that would indicate addiction to gambling," L says, shrugging. "But with the sudden onset of erratic behavior and constant sniffle described by his daughter-"

"It had to be drugs," Light finishes, mind racing. "His bank statements indicated he was in debt. He may not have been able to pay the dealer." He turns back to Daniel. "Did he leave any property here? Do you have a call log? Surveillance footage? Anything that may be useful?"

"I've got a calendar that hasn't been binned yet," Daniel offers tentatively.

It's perfect. It's too perfect. But they've got no choice but to keep following the trail, no matter where it may lead.

Because no matter what it is, it's better than what came before.

***

They take the calendar with them to a park bench, fleeing the deadened stares of the office employees. Light carefully spreads the pages for the last two months apart while L gazes longingly at a nearby ice-cream stand.

"Let's start with the basics," he says, flipping backward through the calendar. "He wrote names down for almost all of his appointments, except one. Started off once every two weeks, then rapidly grew until he was meeting this person every other day. It must be the dealer."

"Obviously," L drones. "What is of more interest is this number, jotted down for that first appointment." Light frowns, peering closer at the square. Crammed into the top right-hand corner appears to be a phone number, laid out in two evenly spaced rows: +61 5240 105 3188.

"That's not a local number, even if it's written to look like one," Light says suspiciously. He performs a quick search on their phone to confirm it. "It's an Australian calling code. But it doesn't match the number in the wallet."

"I find the placement and the unusual spacing of the number to be more interesting," L says, tapping the calendar with one finger. "Look how closely it is crammed into this corner, despite how much space is present in the surrounding area. Does this not suggest the optimal _direction_ to take?"

"Latitude and longitude? There's no way those would be the right co-ordinates for London," Light argues. Still, considering the positioning of the number in the northeast corner, he dutifully types in '61.5240N 105.3188E' into Google, frowning at the result. "These are the co-ordinates for Russia, apparently. Could the dealer be Russian?"

"I believe it refers to Russia Row, in London," L says.

"That's a bit of a stretch-"

"Not if you combine it with the number in the wallet." L stretches out his hand for the phone, pulling up a street view of Russia Row on the screen. "There happens to be a Pizza Express on the corner of Russia Row."

Light gapes at him. "You cannot honestly be suggesting that our victim carried out drug deals in the middle of a public _pizza place._ " Ludicrous images of employees baking drug packets into pizza pies waft through his mind.

"In the absence of further clues, that is precisely what I am suggesting." L peers at him. "You may applaud now." Light folds his arms across his chest resolutely, prompting a woeful sigh from L. "Perhaps a suitable reward?" he suggests hopefully. When Light makes no signs of moving, he pulls a face, slouching off the bench towards the ice-cream stand. "I will return shortly."

"Please, take your time," Light says dryly. He leans back against the bench, idly watching the crowd, trying to figure out what he is going to do about the detective.

And that's when he sees her.

She's not walking any more, unlike his dream. A blanket covers her lap, despite the heat of the sun, and her hands grip the sides of her wheelchair. Unlike how she was in life, the Sayu he sees here is able to move around on her own. He watches her expressionless face in silence as she passes by, throat slowly closing, eyes burning.

And then she spins her wheelchair around. And looks directly at him.

"Brother." Her voice is hollow, accusing. His eyes widen in shock. She _sees_ him - it shouldn't be possible- "Brother," Sayu repeats. "Why did you do this to me?"

His mouth is so dry that he can barely force the words out. When he speaks, he barely recognizes the sound of his own voice. "I-I didn't-"

_"Liar,"_ she snarls, face distorting with rage. But Sayu never could stay angry for long. The unfamiliar expression falls away, replaced by loss and confusion. "Why did you lie to me, brother? Why didn't you come to save me?"

What is he going to tell her? That it wasn't him, it was Kira who had abandoned her? *Can* he say that?

"You're not Kira?" Light starts. He hadn't realized that he'd spoken out loud. Sayu's face reverts to stillness. She shakes her head slowly, as if in disappointment. "Prove it."

"I've changed," he says. "Kira doesn't care about anyone else. I care - I care about you-"

"No," Sayu says sadly. "I don't think you do." She wheels the chair back around, turning to go.

"Wait!" He stands up without thinking, stretches his hand forward. If he could just reach her, he might be able to make her stay. "I do care," he says, forcing his eyes to stay open, even though they begin to burn. "Sayu-" He's looking directly at her. But in the next moment, she's completely gone, as if she never existed.

"I brought us both ice cream." L lopes up beside him, two large cones in his hands. "Since Kira-kun needs to watch his weight, I will graciously eat the second cone on his behalf. Let no-one say I am not considerate-"

Light doesn't know exactly why he does it. Maybe it's stress after all, or the desire to prove Sayu wrong, or just pure _desire_ itself. In the end, it hardly matters. The result is exactly the same.

He wraps one hand around the back of L's head, tangling his fingers in his surprisingly soft hair, leans forward, and presses his lips against L's.

When he pulls back, L is just standing there, transfixed. The detective's eyes narrow. "What new trick is this?"

"It's not a trick!" Light protests, though suddenly he's not quite sure of that. L's paranoia is evidently contagious.

Unexpectedly, one corner of L's mouth quirks upward. To Light's horror, something warm flutters in the pit of his stomach. The feeling rapidly vanishes as soon as L opens his mouth, though. "I see," the detective says, lips twisting further into a bitter smirk. "You think that this tactic will give you an advantage due to your experience. You assume that I am unfamiliar with such things."

That's an unpleasant thought, though not for the reasons Light would have thought it would be. The slight flush that rises in his cheeks, the sinking feeling in his chest - "Are you?" Light asks cautiously, doing his best to keep his sudden flash of jealousy off his face.

L tilts his head to stare at him, although his usual wide-eyed look of false innocence is completely gone. "Why don't you come here and find out, Kira-kun?"

And so he does.

It's almost like a contest, still; neither willing to give way for more than a few brief, tantalizing moments. Each of them darting in, taking what they can, seeking to evoke a response - a stolen breath here, a gasp there - until Light burns like he's never done before, until he knows that he finally _feels_ something far beyond simple obligation-

"Ninety-nine point five percent, Kira-kun." L's voice is slightly rough as they draw apart.

_The percentage went down._ He feels rather uncharacteristically giddy. "Maybe I should have seduced you earlier. Counted on your own self-interest to save me." To his surprise, L actually seems to consider this for a second. "Wait, don't tell me that would actually have worked?" he says incredulously.

"Hmmmm." L taps a finger against lips that Light is pretty sure are going to bruise in _incredibly_ interesting ways. "I would need more data to be sure."

Well, when L puts it like that, what else is Light supposed to do?

He provides more data.

***

Light is extremely grateful for the obliviousness of the unliving. Evidently, their lack of concern extends to furious makeout sessions - makeout battles? - in public parks.

The problem is, he's not entirely sure who won that battle.

The bigger problem is, he's not entirely sure he really cares that much about winning, so long as he can do it again.

Though his lips are still buzzing, his fingers still tingling, he does his best to set the sensations aside; to act as professional and normal and nonchalant as L is - well, as nonchalant as someone who hasn't bothered to fix their hair or hide the marks on their neck can possibly be. It had been L who had to point out that Mr. Shan's acquired habit of leaving work at 5:00 may have indicated his usual meeting time with the drug dealer, and Light is determined not to let an obvious clue like that slip by him again.

If he wants L to take this game seriously after all, he'll have to show him that he's just as good as he is. Better, in fact, considering their history.

Isn't he?

L wrinkles his nose at the Pizza Express sign. "How unhealthy." Light doesn't dignify that with a response.

"All right," he says. "The fact that we do not seem to know anybody here works to our advantage. The drug dealer won't recognize us, and has no reason to think that we're detectives. We'll go in, order some pizza-" He ignores L's exaggerated moan of disgust. "-and keep an eye on the employees and customers. See if we can spot anything unusual."

"Boring."

"You're just saying that because you don't want to eat pizza," Light snaps. A sudden thought flashes through his mind, and a cunning smile steals over his face. "They have dessert."

L perks up immediately. "Really? All right, then." Loping forward with considerably more enthusiasm, he throws open the door, marching into the restaurant.

Light steps in, takes one look around, and stops dead. Stares at the poorly-groomed man seated at one of the tables, a forgotten slice of pizza drooping from his hand, mouth widening further and further into an 'O' of surprise.

"L!" Light barks. The detective is already at the dessert counter, hovering indecisively over some unevenly cut tarts. The suspect shoots out of his chair, bolting immediately for the door. Straight towards Light.

L hooks a chair with his foot. With a powerful swing of his leg, he sends it flying forward. The chair hits the suspect squarely in the back, sending him flying straight into Light. They collapse in a puddle of limbs on the floor. L turns back to the counter, waving his hand in front of the gaping Pizza Express employee's face.

"I think, under the circumstances, that we will take all of the tart pieces to go, please," L says.

"Damn it, L!" Light hisses as the suspect's flailing elbow collides with his cheek. He does his best to wrestle the man down, but he's as slippery - and disgusting - as an eel. "Get over here!"

"I have full faith in your competence, Kira-kun," L says, turning around and blinking at him. His eyes widen as he catches sight of a poster on the wall, and he spins back around to the counter. "Oh! Is that ice cream cherry-flavored?"

It's been a while since Light said it. But it's nice to confirm that he still, at least partially, kind of hates his unlife.

***

"I have to admit, I'm astonished," L says, waving an admonishing finger at the cocaine smuggler they'd evicted from the Winged Victoria in their first case. "I didn't think he had it in him to be a recurring villain."

"Look, I didn't mean to shoot the guy, okay?" The man's eyes dart around the convenient alley they've dragged him into, searching desperately for an escape. "I was just going to scare him a little!"

"You were going to scare him," Light says, deadpan. "With a gun."

"Aww, come on," the man whines. "He didn't pay up, and I've got to protect my business somehow. Ever since Crazy Minnie ran away with half my cocaine-"

"I don't care about the sordid details of your love life," Light snaps. He turns to L. "What are we going to do with him? We can't tell the Winged Victoria staff about him."

L nods. "And the police would be inadvisable. Unless Kira-kun would like to explain to them the circumstances that led to us bringing him in." He looks at Light curiously. "Can Kira-kun suggest a third option?"

"There's got to be some evidence on him," Light argues. "We could say we made a citizens' arrest. Or-or leave him trussed up on the station steps. Or-"

"A _third_ option, Kira-kun." L turns towards the drug dealer. "How much money did Mr. Shan owe you?"

The man's eyes shift around in his skull. "Ten thousand pounds."

L snorts dismissively. "Two hundred fifty."

"Okay, okay, you got me. Five thousand."

"Three hundred."

"No, no, now that I'm remembering it, it's...four thousand pounds."

That sounds about right, based on Mr. Shan's pocketbook, but L is adamant. "Two hundred ninety."

"Aww, come on," the man whines again. "You're killing me here."

_"We_ won't be killing you," L says calmly. "The associates of the Winged Victoria will kill you, however, once we give them your name. Unless you accept two hundred and ninety pounds as full payment of Mr. Shan's debt, and flee London immediately without your ill-gotten goods. We will escort you to the train station."

"We can't let him go!" Light protests. "He'll just keep doing the same thing again!"

"But you do not want him to die."

"He deserves punishment-"

"From who? You, Kira-kun?" L shakes his head. "You have professed to follow justice all your life. Perhaps you should consider learning mercy."

"Mercy?" Light says incredulously. "L, he doesn't _deserve_ mercy! He's obviously lying! No accidental fire would involve a point-blank shot from a loaded gun held against Victor Shan's chest! He obviously doesn't regret what he's done, either! All he regrets is that he got caught!"

L gives him a measuring look. "Kira-kun does not believe that he can change?"

"Of _course_ he can't! He's a hardened criminal; a murderer, and he'll always be one-"

Too late, he realizes the trap. The air seems to rush out of his lungs all at once. L sounds almost sad. "I thought so, too, Kira-kun."

"We're not the same." Indignation won't help him here, even though it's deserved. He has to make L _understand._ "I'm not like that."

"I suppose," L says hesitantly, "that there is still a 0.5% chance that you aren't."

Well, that's better than nothing.

"We'll find something to tie him up with," Light says, proud of how steady his voice is. "Then we'll call in a tip to the police. We can notify the Winged Victoria later, once they've picked him up."

L nods. "Very well. It's a pity we don't still have that chain. How I miss it sometimes."

Light pretends he doesn't hear him.

***

Normalcy isn't a war, not any more. Normalcy is a series of skirmishes across an increasingly muddy field, neither gaining nor losing ground. Falls can be recovered from. Points can be gained on either side without catastrophic consequences for the other.

In short, bickering like an old maid makes him happy. Whatever strange _thing_ he has going on with L makes him - something. Perhaps it's happiness, too. Whatever it is, he can finally pretend wholeheartedly that he really isn't Kira; that he's escaped the consequences of his actions.

Perhaps that's why it doesn't last for long.

One week passes in a blur. Victor Shan is on his way to a recovery - a long and arduous one, but a recovery nonetheless. The drug dealer is in jail. No pressing crimes demand their attention. There's just him, and L, and not-infrequent bouts of data collection.

_("What do you want?"_ L had asked him curiously, two days ago, when he'd ceded a skirmish just to see what would happen.

_"I don't know,"_ he'd said. _You,_ he'd thought. _I want to know what you truly are,_ he'd thought; _I want to know what you'd do if you saw what_ I _am-_

_"Why, what do you want?"_ he'd said.

_"Right now, more tarts,"_ L had said in response, and he'd let the lie go, because what had mattered to him was the knowledge that it was a lie, meaning that they were the same in yet another way. Equals.)

Today, as they walk together through the park near the hotel, he wonders idly how much L has lied to him. He wonders if he's still lying.

Light's perceptions blur. He recalls everything else that has happened with crystal clarity, now - his life, his death, his unlife again. But when he looks back on this moment in the days to come, he will remember the details only in silhouette. The beads of dew on the grass, the light mist in the air. He and L arguing over something unimportant, trading increasingly outrageous insults in a bid to make the other break their mask of seriousness first.

What he knows is that a stray glint of sunlight catches his eye, and he turns his head ever so slightly, and Soichiro Yagami is there.

And Soichiro Yagami _looks_ at him.

He's aware, dimly, that he's stopped dead in the middle of the walkway. That he's walking towards his father, L calling after him in an increasingly alarmed, slightly suspicious tone.

"Father-" he begins.

For the second time, his hallucination speaks. "You are not my son," his father says. And then he turns and starts walking away.

"No!" Light moves to catch up, but he's always just a little faster; dreamlike, he's fading away, piece by piece. He realizes he's begging, but he can't stop himself. This isn't right - his father never knew; until the end, he never knew the truth-

"Please! Wait!" His eyes burn, but he blinks one eye at a time; keeps his father in sight, as if he can stop him from leaving. "Please, don't go - I didn't mean to-" _But he did._ "I didn't know-" _But he'd known._ "I wish it hadn't happened," he says, and it's finally the truth. Soichiro Yagami stops walking, but he doesn't turn around; doesn't get any closer, even though Light's now flat-out running towards him. "If I could do it again, I'd save Sayu - I'd save you; figure out a way, no matter the cost. I-I'm _sorry-"_

His father turns his head slightly so that his nose is visible in profile. His eyes are shaded in darkness. "I'm sorry too," Soichiro Yagami says. And then he's gone.

L isn't gone. L is there, watching him expressionlessly; reaching out a hand to pull him up from his knees, where he'd sunk unknowingly to the ground.

To his surprise, L doesn't say a word on the walk back to the hotel. But the question can't be delayed for too long, and as soon as the door of their room shuts behind them, L turns to him and asks, without preamble: "What did you do to your father?"

As Kira, he'd never have admitted it. But as Light Yagami, there's something left in him that still believes in the truth; that believes he will be judged innocent for his crimes, despite the fact that they couldn't have been called unwilling. So he tells L everything, the truth spilling from his lips like a river. Five years of being L, of what he'd done with his life. Near. Mello. Matt. Takada. The kidnapping. How he'd tricked his father. The fatal shot - his father's, and his, at the very end.

When he is done, he feels drained, as if something deep and precious has finally been taken from him. When he looks at L's shuttered, perfectly blank face, he knows that it has.

"You asked what I wanted," L says. "I wanted to be right." His eyes narrow as he looks at Light's face. "I suppose I am." Like Soichiro, he turns to walk away.

Light wants to tell him that he's sorry, truly sorry. He wants to tell him that yes, it was him who had done all those things, but that people can change after all, and that it's a pity it took him dying to see that but he finally knows now. Impossibly, he wants to tell L: _Don't go; please stay-_ But the words metastasize in his throat; they're everywhere but on his lips, and when it is most important, he cannot find the ability to speak.

The door slams shut behind L. Light lies back on the bed, staring at the ceiling above him.

In the end, there is nothing left to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. That took a LOT longer than expected. I'm afraid I'm much faster at writing humor than at writing the more serious stuff. Travel and work played a part in delaying it, but it's also quite long! The next few chapters should be much shorter, and rather more fast :)
> 
> Much thanks to the amazing duinemerwen for helping me with the giant stumbling block I hit while plotting out and writing up the mystery for this chapter!


	9. Ashes

Light Yagami dreams that he is Kira.

In his dream, his eyes are red, his suit is tan; the ceiling of the Kira Task Force's headquarters swirls and dissolves beneath his gaze as he tilts his head back to look up at it. Beside him, L swivels round and round in his chair, squeaking obnoxiously with each turn. A slice of cake perches precariously on his knees, wobbling slightly as L twists his head to keep Kira in sight. His lips are still out of reach, untouched, unloved; his eyes are still untainted by the burden of knowledge.

"Oh, not this bullshit again," Light says out loud.

From behind him, Kira sighs. "You know, I liked us better when we were completely crazy. At least we knew what we wanted back then."

"What _we_ wanted?" Light says incredulously. "I wanted to not turn into a raving idiot, so it looks like we actually wanted pretty separate things out of life-"

"You consider what you had to be 'life'?" Kira's lip curls disdainfully. "You may as well have dedicated yourself to building your own mausoleum. Perhaps you would have shown more enthusiasm."

"You're right, Kira," he says, scowling at his reflection. "We're definitely not the same. I'm pretty sure I never looked quite as punchable as you do."

"Oh, degenerating from petty insults to fistfights already?" Kira's sarcastic applause hardly makes Light want to hit him any less. "How pathetic. Are you trying to turn me into a substitute for your darling rival?"

Light matches Kira's contemptuous sneer perfectly, struggling to keep his mouth from curving into a snarl. "Don't worry. You are hardly adequate enough to be a substitute."

Kira's eyebrows rise. "Defending him?"

"Attacking you," Light corrects.

"While still defending him." Kira shakes his head, tutting in mock disappointment. "Really, now, Light. What have you done to yourself? You remind me of Misa. Except somehow _whinier._ "

"Perhaps you should be congratulating me for stretching the limits of probability, then."

"Do you want validation for accomplishing absolutely nothing of value since we died? Should I get some dog treats and teach you to fetch? It seems as if you've already learned how to roll over."

"You obviously need better training on playing dead," Light says lazily.

Kira's eyes flash red with irritation. "Are we really doing this? Wasting our second chance at godhood fighting each other?"

Light shrugs. "You started it."

An almost palpable cloud of rage crosses Kira's features. "You childish idiot-"

And Light _understands,_ in that moment, in that rush of vindictive satisfaction, why L acts the way he does. Why it's the optimal, most effective tactic against someone like him; why it's so much fun. For a brief moment, he thinks that he finally knows L's mind, and with that understanding comes a rush of agony, because like everything else in his life, he's understood far, far too late.

Once what he'd been holding onto was already gone.

"Sayu," he says roughly. "Father. That was you?" He pretends he doesn't hear how rough his voice is; pretends he doesn't see the pity mixed in with the disgust on Kira's features, which is somehow so much worse than just plain contempt.

"I wish I could say it was just me," Kira says slowly. "But we both know that's not true, don't we?"

They do. Oh, but they do.

Light avoids answering, opting instead to look around at the gray walls of his dream. The task force has long since filed out; night has fallen, and drops of rain patter insistently against the windows. Gravely, L sets his plate down, carefully arranging his fork to lie across the exact center. He tilts his head as if listening to some imperceptible melody as he rises, a strange wistfulness in his eyes that Light has seen only once before.

_Can you hear the bells?_

Light knows exactly where he is going - how many stairs he will climb, how many of the precious minutes he has left will be used for the ascent. How, surely, he must have known what would happen, and yet how he will choose to have that one last moment of dignity rather than the desperate counterattack Light would have opted for.

Light knows that L is going to his death, and _still_ he can't speak; can't open his mouth to tell him: _stop, wait, I think I may have loved you-_

But L is moving through the doorway, and in just a few seconds he's already gone, forever out of Light's reach.

When he wakes, his pillow is damp, and he tastes salt on his tongue. Rubbing the evidence from his eyes, he reflexively looks over to the other side of the room, but L's bed is empty, still in exactly the same state it had been before.

Light is alone.

***

He takes his time getting ready - to attend to the ghastly beginnings of dark circles under his eyes, of course, certainly not because he's waiting in case L might come back. It doesn't make much of a difference, either way.

The clock on the nightstand says it's breakfast time - by L's standards, anyways - and so he straightens his tie one last time before tucking his room key in his pocket and heading towards the restaurant.

Sure enough, he finds L there, hunched over some sort of enormous chocolate concoction that really should have come with its own health warning label. L barely glances up as he walks over to the table. It's a two-seater, although Light isn't sure whether he's chosen it deliberately or whether he just hasn't bothered to move the other chair away.

"May I join you?" he says smoothly.

One bony shoulder rises in a half-shrug. "Do as you like."

Well, it's a start, at least. His speech is only half-prepared, and really doesn't reveal much of what he would truly _like_ to say, but he's fairly certain that starting small will pay off with better results, in the end. "I-"

And then he notices the way L's eating.

Like a normal person. Small, neat bites. No spraying crumbs everywhere, or "accidentally" waving a blob of chocolate sauce dangerously close to Light's shirt. The occasional dab at the corner of his lips with a table napkin.

Light's heart freezes solid.

L must know he's noticed. But he doesn't say anything at all.

"I thought," Light says after several unbearable minutes of this. "I thought we were-" He can't think of anything he could possibly say to finish that sentence without sounding hopelessly, unattractively pathetic.

L's voice is sharp. "You thought we were what, exactly?" Light hesitates for just a fraction of a second too long, and L snorts. "I thought so." He stands up, pushing his plate away.

"You're not going to finish that?" Light says, surprised.

"I need a new puzzle to solve," L says dismissively. Without another word, he walks away.

Light doesn't know what's more depressing: the fact that L no longer cares enough to torment him, or the fact that the space he took up in L's brain was worth half his entire calorie count, and now it's worth none.

Actually, he does know. Both are pretty equally depressing.

He sits at the table in silence for a long, long time.

***

The two days that pass feel like an eternity. After all the games they've played against each other, it's utterly ridiculous that he still can't find the winning move that will make L _look_ at him again. If he can just find the right words, he can surely _fix_ this, bring everything back to normal.

Light isn't sure if the right words actually exist.

He figures L will have to come back to the room at some point - if not for hygiene, at least for his beloved laptop - but even though Light stays in, orders a lot of room service, and spends his time incessantly thinking about what to do, L doesn't show up.

He supposes they have enough goodwill with the hotel staff now for L to just get a new room. Or to use the public office computers. It doesn't stop the irritating feeling of hope every time he hears the pipes clunk, or a creaking noise, or any sort of sound that could possibly be interpreted as a person.

There are a lot of those. This hotel _really_ sucks.

Still, when he finally hears the three sharp raps on the door, he stops pacing immediately and hurries towards the entryway, barely even pausing for decorum before he pulls the door open. L stands before him, hands tucked deep into his pockets, wearing his characteristic faded blue jeans and baggy t-shirt once more.

"L, I'm sorry," he says immediately. It's the best opener he's come up with so far, which is a troubling indication of his current standards of eloquence.

L completely ignores the apology. "I received a call," he says. "There's a body. They want both of us there."

"Okay," Light nods. He locks the door behind him, lengthening his stride to catch up with L. "I want to explain myself," he says. "I said a lot of things very bluntly while I was under stress, and I believe that if you would give me the opportunity to just explain-"

"The game is over," L says, cutting him off. He gives Light a sharp glance, almost angry. "That is what this was, wasn't it? Well," he says, and his smile certainly isn't pleasant. "I win."

After that, there isn't really much to say.

***

What looks like half the hotel staff have congregated outside the room containing the crime scene, whispering frantically to one another. As they approach, several look up, staring at him and L with wide, horrified eyes.

"Oh, good," the hotel concierge says with obvious relief, rushing over to them. "You're here. Both of you."

"Two people are hardly necessary, as I told you before," L says coldly.

Surprisingly, the concierge shakes his head vigorously, lips pressed tightly together. "No, no. I really think that _both_ of you should see this." Light frowns. If their theory of escalation is correct, perhaps this crime is particularly gruesome? Or perhaps the murderer has left some sort of message for them-

His thoughts stutter to a halt as they enter the room. The arrangement of the body is extraordinarily peculiar, almost grotesque, and cryptic scrawlings abound on the walls, but that's not what Light's looking at.

He's looking at the face of the corpse, staring right into its open eyes. Into his own eyes. His face.

This final hallucination is too much to bear, with everything that's happened. He's going to be _sick_ , he can't be sick, he'll contaminate the crime scene, he needs _air-_

"Kira-kun," L breathes. Light's eyes widen as he jerks his head around to stare at L, whose head is tilting slowly back and forth, looking between the dangling corpse and Light's own face. The detective's voice sounds as if it is coming from very far away. "It's you."

It's not a hallucination.

L sees him, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rather angsty chapter! Don't worry - we'll be back to our usual back-and-forth bickering soon enough. I suppose cold-blooded murder tends to dampen the mood just a little.


	10. No Smoke Without A Fire

The hysterical laugh bubbling from Light's throat is unpleasantly familiar. Still, staring at his own bloodless face, he can't quite seem to make it stop. His lips looks as if they are about to part, to divulge yet another mocking secret; his eyes reflect the light of the sun with a strange reddish hue that, for a moment, makes him question whether he really _is_ seeing himself after all.

Yet he still can't stop laughing.

"Out." L's hands are on his shoulders, steering him firmly past the crowd, out into the hallway. He is vaguely aware of being propped up against the wall, twenty sets of curious eyes fixed on him, before L steps in front of him and blocks out his vision. "Get back to work," L tells the assembled hotel staff bluntly. "You are blocking our crime scene."

For some reason, that only spurs his hideous laughter to greater heights. "Such touching concern!" he manages to say between his gasps for breath. "Do you really-"

L slaps him across the face.

It's not hard, but the sting is enough to shock him out of his stupor. He bows his head to hide his face as he straightens his jacket and readjusts his tie, which seems a little too tight around his neck.

"Are you feeling better?" Light looks up to meet L's dark, fathomless eyes, squinting inquisitively at him. "I would be happy to hit you again, if that would help."

Light suppresses another burst of mania. "I think I'll manage, thanks," he says dryly. L's face gives nothing away. He hesitates for a moment - should he ask? Should he interpret this as some sort of concession due to the situation? A flash of his old anger rises to the surface. _I will not be pitied._

"Are you looking for handcuffs?" he snaps, folding his arms. "Don't you want to chain up your number one suspect?"

L blinks slowly. "You never struck me as the self-defeating type." His thumb rubs across his lips. "Well, except for now, of course."

Light snorts bitterly, turning his back on his former rival. L's next words stop him in his tracks.

"I appear to be the only other person on this planet with a known association with the victim," the detective says thoughtfully. "Would that not make _me_ the most logical suspect?"

"Don't be stupid," Light says cuttingly, unable to stop himself from lashing out. "You would only need to do that if you'd _lost,_ wouldn't you?"

Surprisingly, that actually seems to shut L up.

The silence as they step back into the room is almost oppressive. Light wants to instinctively cover his nose to mask the stench of death - _his_ death - but he's had enough of showing weakness, and so he wipes all traces of expression from his face and truly looks at the crime scene, avoiding the sight of his face for now.

So. His corpse.

It truly is bizarrely arranged. Even identifying a murder method is difficult, considering that the killer seems to have opted for overkill as the best possible way of disposal. His arms and legs are criss-crossed with frenzied slashes, which have bled -

He frowns. Surprisingly little. Had the killer gone into some sort of insane stabbing spree _after_ he was already dead? The wounds are shallower than Light would expect, too. In a way, he already knows what he will find when he leans down to gently pull his corpse's suit jacket away from his torso, wincing as the dried blood stubbornly resists the movement.

A single gunshot wound, piercing the lung. Perhaps there's another one, where Matsuda had clipped his side, but he doesn't bother looking.

There's no doubt. Coupled with the writing on the wall-

-the _literal_ writing on the wall, in foot-tall letters that proclaim: "LIAR! TRAITOR!" and so on, and so forth -

\- and the plethora of hamhanded clues lying around the room, ranging from poorly scrawled pictograms to what appears to be some sort of crude cipher, this has to be the most overdone crime scene he's ever seen in life or death.

He's been killed by an idiot. _Again._

L clears his throat, almost but not-quite apologetically. "At least we can be certain that you are not the killer this time. You would never set up something quite _this_ tasteless."

"Well, that doesn't rule *you* out," Light says pettily, and is rewarded with what looks like a genuine wince. "What, no scintillating observations to add this time, with your superior detective skills?" He's almost grateful for the contempt, clinging to his face like a second skin, wiping away the last lingering traces of nausea.

L sighs, walking over to the wall to stare contemplatively at a stick figure with myriad jagged spikes driven through its legs. "My keen senses detect some resentment here-"

"Some resentment?!" Light really wants to hit him, but it would only make things _worse,_ and he can't handle any more 'worse', not here, not now- "You ignore me for days, act like you were just pretending all along, and now you're standing here making snide remarks over my _dead body?_ Don't you dare pretend like you have the higher moral ground here; it was you who proved yourself the liar-"

"I...may have been mistaken."

That stops Light dead in his tracks. "What was that?" he asks quietly.

"I may have been mistaken," L repeats, mouth twisting unhappily as his slouch deepens. "I believed your hallucinations to be manifestations of your desire to avoid responsibility for your actions. Seeing this has made me realize that you may not have been lying about your split personality."

"What a glowing assessment," Light says flatly. "And you believe that makes up for everything."

L scrutinizes his narrowed eyes carefully, looking far more infuriatingly hesitant than he has any right to be. "I believe," the detective says cautiously, "that it...does not?"

"I cannot believe how someone so otherwise intelligent can be utterly moronic," Light hisses. "If you seriously think that constitutes an apology, I regret to inform you that your head is stuffed so far up your ass that it might be terminal-"

The detective clears his throat, scratching at the back of his head almost sheepishly. "I...was talking about the crime scene."

Light's jaw drops. "What?"

"When I spoke of resentment," L clarifies.

"Oh, really," Light says, voice dripping with suitably withering sarcasm. "What clued you in? Was it the multiple knife wounds? The psychotic scribbling? Oh, maybe the fact that I'm _dead?_ "

"It was this, actually," L says meekly, gesturing towards the stick figure. Seeing Light's blank stare, he elaborates. "Liar, liar, pants on fire?"

"What? Those are not-" He takes a closer look at the spike-like things in its legs. Maybe they _could_ be flames - possibly - although he doesn't really want to think too hard about the mental gyrations required to reach that conclusion. "This is clearly the work of a deranged mind," Light says, scowling.

"That narrows down the suspect list a little, at least," L points out. "If we were considering only those harboring resentment against you, the suspect pool would consist of everyone you've ever interacted with."

"Seriously?" Light snaps. "We're standing over my corpse, and you're still making your stupid jokes?"

"It may not actually be _your_ corpse," L says hesitantly. He seems to be waiting for Light to say something, but Light only folds his arms and stares at him. The corners of L's mouth droop even further down. "I apologize for doubting your story...Yagami-kun."

It really is funny. If the circumstances were anything other than what they are, he would lord this over L for the rest of their unlives. Perhaps he would even get him to put it down in writing. But forgiveness has never been in Light's nature, especially not when he has something to gain from withholding it. He takes a deep breath, exhaling forcefully. "Answer me honestly, then," he says, keeping his eyes fixed on L's. "Was it only a game to you?"

The detective takes a long time to answer. "Yes," he says at last. Light feels the last remaining traces of warmth leave his body; stands statue-still and hollow, unable to look away. "And no," L says softly.

"Explain."

L's explanation is far more uncertain than anything he has ever heard him say before. "I knew - no, I thought I knew what you were doing. But I believe-" He clicks his tongue, shaking his head in frustration. "I think I wanted to believe you," he says simply. "That was why, when I thought you had lied..." The detective spreads his hands, evidently unable or unwilling to elaborate further.

"I see," he says. Perhaps it's inadequate, but what is he supposed to say to that? He would say that that still doesn't fix anything, not really, but that's just stating the obvious. He would say that it's fine, and use it to manipulate concessions later, but L isn't someone who those tactics would ever work on, and he both loves and hates him for it. He looks at L, and he wants to pin him against the wall and kiss him more than he wants to hurt him, and he'll be damned if that isn't the most infuriating thing L has ever accomplished.

L clears his throat. "Perhaps we should discuss this further once we have solved this crime?"

Oh. Right. His murder.

"Fine," he says, tearing his gaze away with an almost physical pang. He frowns as one particular wall scribble catches his eye. "Looks like a cipher to me," he says, pointing at the offending line.

He can picture L's tilted head as he stares at the inscription: GURCEBBSVFVAGURCHQQVAT.

"It is one of the only pieces of writing that is not either an insult, an accusation, or frankly incomprehensible," the detective says thoughtfully.

Light nods, eyes flickering to the words directly underneath it. "Fake rule," he says out loud. Is this referring to some sort of moral imperative, in line with the rest of the killer's diatribes? Or could it be referencing the rules of the Death Note? In which case, it could be referencing the two fake rules he had added to the Note - one to prevent its destruction, and one to prevent their capture-

"Caesar's cipher," L says dolefully. 

Light groans, burying his head in his hands. "With an offset of 13. We wouldn't even have needed the clue about the 13-day rule! The first three letters repeat twice - it'd hardly be a stretch to link them to the most common probable word, 'the'-"

L rummages in his pockets for a marker, digging one out along with an alarming array of half-melted candies, tracing the letters onto the wall. "The proof is in the pudding."

"The proof is-" Light begins indignantly, then double-checks the sentence. No, it isn't a mistake. The killer had really decided that it was a good idea to encrypt those particular words with the simplest cipher in the world and decorate the walls with them. "This is the stupidest thing I've ever seen in my life, and I was stuck chained to you for a month," he says flatly.

"It is possible that the killer is insulting us," L says, tapping his lips. "Implying that we are stupid enough to require such a hint."

"Or maybe it's aimed at the only person who would be stupid enough to actually understand a clue like that."

"You are absolutely right, Yagami-kun." Light frowns warily. L sounds far too pleased for his liking. "The hotel pudding is chocolate, and not of the best quality. It is a daunting task, but by your own admission, I would be best suited to investigate it. _You_ can handle canvassing for witnesses."

Light can't believe he has to say this out loud. "The pudding is metaphorical, L," he sighs.

"Look around you," L says, gesturing with his hands. "Does this look to you like the work of a criminal mastermind gifted with metaphor?"

Light has to admit that no, it does not. "We still haven't finished looking around," he argues. "It's likely that the killer made some sort of mistake along the way." Despite himself, his gaze drifts towards his corpse again. He wonders briefly whether the bullet in his chest will match Matsuda's gun; moves forward to at least try and extract it, but L slouches his way into his path, shaking his head.

"Search the other rooms." It's not a request.

"I can handle this," he protests.

"I know," the detective says. But he doesn't move.

Screw it. This entire situation is completely insane. He's made his point, and it won't cost him anything to not have to deal with this mess. "If you insist," he says, shrugging casually before heading towards the bathroom. He makes sure not to walk too quickly, although he does take the liberty of closing the door behind him. All the better to search with.

He does a diligent job, if he does say so himself. But, oddly enough, there are no traces of the killer at all. He would have expected that they would have rinsed off their hands in the sink, or perhaps the bathtub, but both seem to be bone-dry. Considering the messiness of the scene, there should at least be some trace if they had entered the bathroom, but there doesn't seem to be anything there.

L's canvassing-for-witnesses idea, to his horror, is starting to look like a more and more viable option. On the bright side, the neighbours would probably have been more likely to notice a bloodstained maniac wandering the halls than an inconspicuously clean one. Probably.

"You know," he says conversationally as he emerges, "with the amount the hotel is paying us, they could probably buy enough security cameras to actually monitor who goes in and out of these rooms."

L's eyebrows rise as he turns to face him. "And maintain actual records of the occupants? For shame, Yagami-kun! Think of all the hardworking criminals it would inconvenience!"

He sighs. "Never mind. Did you find anything?"

L winces. "Well, about that..." He points to what looks like a small, sodden clump on the hotel room desk. "I think that this was *meant* to be some sort of clue. Unfortunately, the killer tucked it into your - ah, into the victim's jacket. Right above the fatal bullet wound."

With an immense effort of will, he resists the urge to bury his face in his palms. "Great."

"No murder weapon," L continues. "No knife, either, or slashing tool to account for those cuts. It is possible that the killer took the weapons with them, or that they simply threw them out the window. This is one of the rooms with a working latch."

With an unpleasant jolt, he remembers the knife that _he'd_ thrown out the window of their room, not too long ago. "I can search the grounds-"

"No need." L waves him off. "The lack of any drag marks or blood trail, combined with the amount of blood, indicate that the murder happened in this room. You have a lot of canvassing to do."

At the very least, their room is on the other side of the hotel. He has no doubt that the incriminating shampoo bottle has long since ended up in a dump somewhere. Unfortunately, the same probably goes for any possible murder weapons, and he doesn't really envy L the task of digging through piles of trash. "I'll start with the guest book, then," he says, then pauses as a thought occurs to him. "Did my body have anything on it? A wallet, identification-"

The detective is already shaking his head. "Nothing. Not even a scrap piece of paper," he adds, giving Light a wry smile. After a brief moment of consideration, he returns it.

The most optimal strategy here would be to let L stew in uncertainty for a while. It would serve him right. But if L walks a little closer behind him than he should as he leaves the room, if his hand happens to brush against Light's in what falls just a little closer to a reassuring pat than a casual touch - well, who would notice? Certainly not Light. Definitely not. Unseen by anyone, he allows the tiniest smile of anticipation to touch his lips-

"So," L says innocently, "did you really spend the last two days pining hopelessly for me?"

And, just like that, the mood is gone.

"I spent some time on self-reflection, you idiot," he snaps. "Between your aversion to mirrors and your overinflated ego, you probably wouldn't survive a second of introspection-"

"Oh? I was not aware that introspection required such obscene amounts of ice cream-"

"Aha!" Light rounds on him triumphantly, stabbing a finger towards L's chest. "So you were monitoring my habits! Would you call that an unhealthy fixation? An indication of some sort of minimally functioning sense of guilt. Or perhaps... _languishing?"_

"The only unhealthy fixations I have are on things I can ingest," L says mildly. While Light is still digesting _that_ interesting tidbit, he strikes again. "In fact, your obvious delight at the thought of me surveilling you seems to be far more disturbing-"

"Because it proves me right, you cretin, you ought to know all about that-"

"I do know all about being right, actually," L says cheerfully. "I'm glad to hear you admit it, Yagami-kun."

Light rolls his eyes. "You know, I'm really starting to doubt whether your obfuscating stupidity is an act or not."

L blinks owlishly at him. "It's common courtesy, Yagami-kun! At least _my_ stupidity is obfuscated." That draws a snort out of Light at last. L, ungraceful as always in victory, preens smugly for the rest of their walk to the hotel lobby. 

It's not quite the same. Not yet. But he's no longer Kira to L, and that's a start.

And in some ways, that's all that really matters.

***

He's not really surprised when he finds nothing in the guest log.

Even though the crime scene hadn't exactly screamed 'scintillating intellect', he's relieved that the killer hadn't been stupid enough to actually put down their name in the hotel registry. Unfortunately, that leaves routine questioning of the other rooms' occupants as the best way to find further clues.

It goes about as well as Light would expect, which is to say, not at all.

By the fifth sullen "I haven't seen nothin'," Light's patience has well and truly worn out.

"Look, if you 'didn't see nothing'," he explains through gritted teeth, "that means that you must have seen _something."_

The woman peering at him through her slightly cracked-open door narrows her eyes suspiciously. Slowly, ponderously, she opens her mouth to speak. "I haven't seen...somethin'." 

He resists the urge to scream. "I'm not asking you to say anything that you're uncomfortable with," he lies, giving her his best winning smile. "Perhaps you could merely comment on whether you have seen me around at some point within the last day or so?"

The woman looks back and forth from his empty hands to his increasingly strained smile. Finally, she speaks again. "Yep."

_Deep breaths. Deep breaths._ "Was I with anyone?"

She sucks her teeth, making a popping noise with her lips. "Nope."

He sighs. "Okay. Fine. On what day did you see me, and at what time?" If she says 'right now', he might have to take up the mantle of a killer again.

"Yesterday," the woman says, rolling her eyes. "Around midnight. Passed you while coming back to my room, as you should know, you creep."

"Thanks," he says loudly, raising his voice even further. "You've been very helpful." The woman glares at him as she slams the door in his face. The petty satisfaction he feels does nothing for the vague suspicion in the back of his mind, though.

Three witnesses so far who claim to have seen him around, which isn't bad, all things considered. Two of them - this woman and one other - apparently saw him around midnight, with the other witness actually having observed him entering the room in which he was murdered. Nobody saw him come back out, which fits the general timeline with which the body was discovered. Absently, his hand brushes the printed record of a noise complaint from the adjoining room - loud banging noises, logged at around 3 AM and subsequently ignored by the concierge on duty when a walk-by had failed to detect any sound. The night staff hadn't made it to the room until 3:30 AM or so, but he supposes that stabbing a dead body would probably be relatively quiet. It's plausible that the killer may still have been present at the time.

L is nowhere to be seen, so, after a quick look around to make sure he's not lurking in a doorway or something, he turns and walks briskly towards the crime scene. There are several things that he'd failed to investigate thoroughly in the heat of the moment, and there's no better time than the present to do something about it.

He's relieved to see that the body has been removed, at least, although the enormous bloodstain on the floor has been left untouched. He turns away, eyes flickering up and down the length of the door. Experimentally, he tests the doorknob; bends down to examine the knob and latch for scratches or marks, but is unable to find any evidence of tampering. Like the rest of the doors in the hotel, it auto-locks when closed, which brings another frown to his face. How had the body been discovered? By the cleaning staff, perhaps? He makes a mental note to ask the concierge about it.

No forced entry, or sounds of a disturbance prior to the gunshot wounds, according to the neighbours. So perhaps he had let the killer in willingly? Or perhaps there was an alternate point of entry. He walks over to the window. It's unlatched - had L raised it while he was alone in the room? Pulling his jacket sleeve over his fingers, he slides the window up, leaning out cautiously to avoid the sparse leaves of the giant oak tree that is the Winged Victoria's single claim to beauty.

And there they are. Scuff marks on the wide ledge of the windowsill. None around the actual latch, or windowpane.

Quickly, he pulls his phone from his pocket, leaning out to snap pictures as he visualizes the possibilities. They're on the third floor. The oak tree is large, a holdover from many centuries ago; its enormous branches splay out all along its length, beginning much lower to the ground than he might have expected. Wiggling through the gap of the raised window might be a little difficult, but there is no screen to block entry or exit, and it would be easy enough for someone to exit via the window and reach the ground via the oak branches. Or perhaps to climb it as well. A small person would find it easier, maybe, but you wouldn't necessarily need to be small. Dexterity would be enough. A certain apelike nimbleness.

He slams the window shut with more force than necessary, closing the door firmly behind him as he returns to the lobby once more. 

The concierge goes sheet-white when he spots Light approaching him, as if he's seen a ghost. Accurate enough, he supposes. "Who found the body?" he says bluntly, jolting the man out of his stupor.

"It...it was the cleaning tag," he stutters. "On the door. You know, the do not disturb sign? But it was turned around - so that cleaning staff would enter..."

"I see." Light nods. It's as he suspected. The killer wanted the body to be found. Probably as part of whatever sick game they wanted to conduct with the odd hints left around the scene-

"...and then there was the phone call-"

"I'm sorry, what?" Light's head snaps upward. "What phone call?"

The concierge shifts uneasily. "I...well, due to some recent unfortunate incidents with retaining our staff, we aren't always able to get to rooms promptly." Well, that much is obvious, considering the state of the room that he and L share. "I didn't think of it before, since we took so long to get to the room, but now that I think back on it, the timing was suspicious-"

"Slow down," he says urgently. "What time was this phone call?"

"It was around noon," the concierge whispers. "They asked when the hotel staff would be coming to clean their room. I didn't think of it then, because they gave the number of the room next to the one where..." He shivers. "Well, you know. But both of those rooms had their 'Do Not Disturb' tags on, and the occupants claimed that they hadn't placed the call when we asked them about it. So...so, I wonder..."

"...if it was the killer that called you," Light finishes.

The concierge shudders again. "Yes."

Light pulls out a pen, prepared to scribble notes on his palm if he needs to. "Was the caller a man or a woman?"

"I couldn't tell." He hadn't thought it was possible for the man to look any paler, but apparently he's somehow managed to accomplish it. "The voice was so heavily distorted...sometimes high-pitched, sometimes almost a growl. I really couldn't tell. I'm sorry."

Hmm. Disappointing, but hardly a dead end yet. "Do you have records of the phone number?" he asks.

"Yes! Give me a moment." Light waits impatiently, arms folded tightly, until the concierge returns with a number hastily scribbled down on a sticky note. He is completely unsurprised when it turns out to be disconnnected. If he was still a member of the police, he could have requested someone - Matsuda, probably - to check the phone registration. In the absence of that option, Google turns up several sites purporting to offer reverse phone number searches in the UK. Some of them even look legitimate.

He tries a couple of them, in rapid succession. The first offers only an area code, which he could have figured out himself from the number. It's in the same region as the Winged Victoria, which isn't too surprising, considering that the killer apparently knew that the hotel staff hadn't arrived on the scene yet. One look at the multiple advertisements doing their level best to detonate his phone hardware has him rapidly backing out of the second website. The third one appears to be the charm, promising a record of the full name and rough geographical location of any reverse searched number. What he sees makes him stop dead in his tracks.

Of course, the geographical information is the same as before, based entirely off the area code. It's the name that's incredulous, ridiculous, utterly impossible.

_This phone number is registered to: Ryuga Hideki._

There's no way. It's some sort of trap, or an inept frame job at best. The crime is far too brazen; far too idiotic and stupid, to boot-

_"At least_ my _stupidity is obfuscated."_

It's ridiculous. If L had really killed him, he would have made sure that the crime was untraceable; the body never found-

_Clues that lead nowhere. One possibly enlightening message, left sodden and unreadable after L had been left alone in the room. No material evidence. Kira, allowing his killer to enter the room without so much as a word._

It's completely out of character. L would have no reason to kill him-

_"I think I wanted to believe you. That was why, when I thought you had lied..."_

Liar. Traitor. Betrayer, written all over the walls in a maddened frenzy of pain-

A crime of passion. A personal vendetta.

It's funny how it's never even occurred to him to think that L was right all along. Love really does make a compelling motivation for murder.

And, ironically, it's his own lover who's now the primary suspect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the amazing Duinemerwen for the hilarious "Dan Brown parody with terrible symbolism" idea! If you enjoy humor, angst, and romance and the Good Omens fandom, definitely check out her fics :)
> 
> We're approaching the end, slowly but steadily! I ended up splitting this chapter in half for better pacing - hope to have the second half of this mystery up later this week!


	11. Keep This Fire Burning

By the time he's gotten back to their room, Light has finally calmed down enough to think logically about this.

Okay, yes, so things look kind of bad. L is an extremely plausible suspect. But that doesn't necessarily mean that he's the _only_ suspect. Does it?

Light perches on the edge of his bed, spinning his pen between his fingers.

The first question with any murder: Who benefits from the death, and why?

The most obvious answer is Light himself. The pros are myriad. He doesn't have to worry about his insane alter ego slowly taking over his mind, his relationship with L improves, his credibility is increased while his moral culpability is reduced - he could go on, but that's quite sufficient. The cons, of course, are that he has far too much pride to fake the idiocy or psychotic rage clearly evident in every aspect of the crime scene. 

Plus, of course, he knows he didn't do it.

That leaves the second most obvious answer. L.

The pros, he has to admit, are almost as numerous for L as they are for him. L no longer has to worry about his boyfriend's insane alter ego snapping and murdering him in his sleep, he scores a win over both Kira *and* Light by not-so-neatly removing his biggest obstacle, he gets revenge for his initial murder and justice for his friends, fellow victims of Kira...

And, he thinks reluctantly, L's relationship with him improves at the same time. Light's not exactly crying a river over Kira's apparent demise.

But there are far too many cons. L said it himself. As far as they know, they seem to be the only two remnants of their former lives left in this world. Assuming that his relationship with Light plays any sort of factor in this decision, would he really proclaim himself as a murderer in such a horrific and gruesome fashion? Even if the murder was purely born from some desire for revenge, or anger, L's not actually stupid. The other people in their undeath are unobservant, at best. Especially if Kira had voluntarily allowed L access to his room, it would have been relatively easy for him to lure Kira somewhere and kill him undetected, neatly satisfying all possible motivations while leaving his reputation untarnished by hypocrisy.

In this world, who else would benefit from his death? Some of the criminals they've arrested, perhaps? But then again, none of them would know of the link between L and Ryuga Hideki.

Who else? Any of the thousands of criminals that he's personally killed as Kira would fit the bill, of course, but the same objection would apply. Although perhaps there might be some slim possibility - he never checked to see whether any of his victims existed in this world, after all-

Light hastily pulls out his phone again, types the name of his first victim into the search bar. _Kurou Otoharada._ He frowns, scrolling through the results. Business profiles, a few social media pages - no pictures that look anything like the man, nor any news stories. He tries adding "nursery school" and "hostage" to the search, but fails to find any results this time.

The man's crime was certainly notorious enough to have been newsworthy. But perhaps he had only made the news in Japan? No matter - he's killed plenty of criminals, no matter where in the world they attempted to hide. After a brief moment of consideration, he types in "Jon Shellsworth domestic murder arson" to the search bar. But, similarly to Otoharada, this returns no results. Even searching for images of people with that name fails to reveal any picture with more than a passing resemblance to the criminal he remembers. Out of a desire for thoroughness, he tries a few more names, but it's as fruitless an endeavor as his initial two attempts.

The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach intensifies.

He's going about this the wrong way. Logically, the killer must fit into several criteria. They must know of the connection between L and the alias 'Ryuga Hideki.' They must be familiar enough with Kira for him to have granted them access to his room, or at least to have killed him without any evidence of a struggle. The fatal shot hadn't been fired from a distance, after all. And they must have been physically present, or somehow been able to influence someone to physically carry out the crime-

_Influence._

There's one tool he knows of that could conceivably achieve such a thing; one with which he's more intimately familiar than anyone else on earth.

A Death Note.

And so, there's a third possibility. Someone with liberal ruthlessness, a vested interest in him, and a sense of humor warped enough to find this whole situation funny.

_Ryuk._

***

He's back in the room where he died once again, staring fixedly at the scuffed windowsill as if he could force it to reveal its secrets just by doing so. Ryuk might be able to walk through walls, but whatever patsy he might have gotten to do his bidding certainly wouldn't have been able to, which would explain the use of the oak tree and window as a possible entry and exit point. Ryuk's sudden appearance would certainly have startled Kira, though - perhaps he'd been there to watch?

Light is very uncomfortably aware that these speculations go beyond just idle theorizing into the realm of fantasy. Why is he looking so hard for an alternate explanation, anyways?

His shoulders slump. Ryuk _would_ be a plausible culprit as well, to stave off boredom if nothing else, but he knows the real reason.

He wants a mysterious third party to swoop in out of nowhere and be the killer, so that L won't be.

All right. Now that he's actually figured out what he wants - _take that, Kira_ \- what actual evidence supports his theory? Other than the fact that Ryuk _might_ have been able to pull off something like this, there's no real proof. Other than the fact that this appears to be the first case with some sort of otherworldly element to it, of course.

Hmm. Maybe that's it. He hasn't even thought about why Kira suddenly chose to show up in the flesh all of a sudden, or how he'd managed it, although he suspects that the only way to find actual answers to such metaphysical questions would be throttling them out of Ryuk. No, the most pertinent questions are not 'how', but when Kira had appeared and what exactly he had done when he'd arrived.

It's so obvious in retrospect that he wants to smack himself in the head. The concierge had mentioned a cleaning tag left on the door handle. Obviously, someone had booked the room - someone with enough money to do so. And if that rules Kira out, that leaves one logical suspect. The killer.

The concierge doesn't look any happier to see him than he had been the last time. "Back again, sir?" he says, forcing fake cheeriness through tightly compressed lips.

Light doesn't bother answering. "Who rented the room the body was found in?"

He frowns when the man hesitates, eyes flickering uneasily. "I-I'm afraid I don't..."

"Surely that information is available on record."

The concierge licks his lips. "I already provided that information to your colleague. The black-haired fellow-"

What on earth is he dithering about? Light leans forward, elbows slamming into the counter with more force than necessary. "Provide it again."

"Well...that is..." He shrinks beneath Light's murderous glare. "Your colleague asked me not to tell you," he blurts out. "He said it would upset you necessarily - that it was someone you know-"

"Let me worry about that," he snaps, heart pounding faster in his ears. It's irrational - if L really is the killer, there's no way he would have booked the room under one of his aliases - but for some reason, he almost feels as if he knows what he's going to find when he looks down at the paper the concierge slides across the desk. He's afraid it'll read: _Ryuga Hideki-_

He freezes, staring disbelievingly at the name. His head feels strangely light, as if he's about to float away; his hands tighten convulsively as he struggles to regulate his breathing. "This must be some mistake," he finally manages to say.

"No, I'm afraid not," the man says, shaking his head vigorously. "He had identification at check-in. There was no mistake."

For the third time, Light forces his gaze back down to the paper, and the name so casually highlighted on the printed reservation sheet.

_Light Yagami._

"Are you all right, Mr...Kira?" the concierge says worriedly, eyes darting briefly downward. "You don't look so good-"

 _The nametag. L's goddamned joke nametag-_ Light's hand flies to the front of his jacket, tightening around the label pinned to his chest. "Fine," he grunts, turning on his heel. If the concierge calls after him, he doesn't hear it. He doesn't stop, not until he's back at that room, when he can rip that bloody thing off and pull out his wallet, frantically rifling through his cards. There - his driver's license, his Number Card, his useless credit cards. All in _his_ name - Light Yagami's. Not Kira's.

The victim had had identification, too. Does that prove anything?

Who is he?

He thinks of yellow eyes and empty smiles, and finds himself forced to admit that he doesn't know.

***

So, for the fourth time, he's back at the crime scene, searching for clues. But this time, he knows where he's going.

The killer, whoever they are, obviously hadn't wanted to leave complicated or oblique clues. They also hadn't had time after the murder to wander around the hotel or go to the restaurant, which would have been closed anyways.

If 'the proof is in the pudding', it's somewhere in this room.

It doesn't take him long to find the trashbin, tucked neatly - or perhaps purposefully - beneath the desk. He tips it over onto the surface of the table, grimacing slightly as he uses the edge to sift through the surprisingly hefty amount of rubbish. Still, it doesn't take him long to find the odd piece out, beneath the crumpled tissues and torn sheets of paper.

A single pudding cup.

When he lifts it, wrapping fresh tissue from the bathroom around his hand to shield it, he catches a flash of black on the inside of the cup. Angling it carefully so that it tilts towards the light, he sees a series of dots and dashes scrawled on the inner surface in a slightly shaky hand. His lip curls, despite himself. Morse code? Really? Could they get any simpler? It's but the work of a moment to decipher the text, although the result does give him a moment's pause.

"Ban plank ah?" he mutters out loud, shaking his head. Well. It's obviously an anagram of some sort, albeit inexpertly constructed. It's only the work of a few moments to figure it out - after quickly discarding 'plan' as a possibility when the other letters fail to make sense, 'bank' seems like the next most logical word. An Internet search confirms it, with 'Alpha Bank' neatly tallying with the available letters. Conveniently enough, there's a single branch in London. That's all well and good, but what's he going to do when he gets there? He doubts that the killer politely left forwarding instructions with the bank staff.

Gingerly, he rotates the pudding cup, searching for further clues. A reluctant smile tinges his lips as he catches sight of the barely-noticeable barcode sticker affixed casually to the bottom of the cup. The four numbers on the bottom of the barcode are printed in a larger format than usual, and probably correspond to some sort of PIN code. He has to admit - that's actually kind of clever. The first hint of intelligence he's seen from the killer so far, which is promising.

Still, it's not as if the money in the killer's dummy account is going to lead him anywhere. Besides, he would need an account number-

He freezes. Or a key. To, say, a safe deposit box.

Which, judging from the patterns of dust on the floor indicating that the trash can has been moved before he pulled it out, L already has.

Cursing under his breath, he grabs the pudding cup and hurries out the door. L already has a head start on him, and he'll be damned if he lets it get any wider.

***

He catches L descending the bank steps just as he is preparing to race up them. For a moment, both he and the detective stop dead, staring at each other in silence.

L is the first to break it. "You saw the reservation."

He doesn't bother answering. It isn't really a question, anyways. "What was on the scrap of paper you claimed was unreadable?"

The detective's mouth twists unhappily, shoulders curling inward. "Light Yagami has killed me," he says simply.

His lungs empty with a single, pained hiss as he bows his head, unwilling to look the other man in the eye any longer. "So that's why you came here without me."

"No." L's voice is surprisingly soft. "I came here to prove that you weren't the culprit, Yagami-kun."

"Oh, yeah?" he says, unable to repress a bitter laugh. "How do you figure that? How do you even know that I'm not Kira?"

L tilts his head sideways. "Two things. First, you have far too much pride to construct a scene like this. Second-" The detective pauses for a moment. "Tell me, Yagami-kun. Why are you here?"

"The phone number from which the complaint was lodged was registered to Ryuga Hideki."

"I see," L says gently. "So you came here to head me off?"

"No, you idiot," he snaps. "Were you always so dense? I came here to prove that it wasn't you-"

L beams at him. "And there you have it. Yagami-kun," he adds belatedly.

It's funny. He hasn't noticed how tense he'd been until the steel bands around his chest relax at L's words.

"So," Light says, "what was in the safety deposit box?"

L doesn't even have the grace to look abashed. "This," he says simply, pulling out a cellphone.

He arches an eyebrow at the dark screen. "So?" he prompts the detective. "What's the next clue?"

"I don't know," the detective says, shrugging. "I suppose the killer left it on for a while. It's out of battery."

"Oh, for the love of-"

"It gives us time to consider the case while we hunt for a charger," L says, shrugging. "The point about Ryuga Hideki is interesting. Only four people could know about that connection: you, me, Watari, and Misa-Misa."

Huh. He'd never even remotely considered her as a possibility. "Misa's out. She doesn't have it in her to pull off something like this."

"Are you sure?" L says, blinking at him, then holds up his hands placatingly at Light's glare. "Very well, Yagami-kun. I trust in your judgment. Watari is out, too."

"He's got a good motive," Light reminds him.

"But not the necessary savagery. His desecrations are strictly culinary," L says with a theatrical shudder.

"Right." Light rolls his eyes. "Anyways, you forgot someone, master detective that you are. Ryuk knew, too."

"Your shinigami?" L taps his lips, deep in thought. "I suppose it's possible. Although in that case, Misa-Misa's shinigami would also be a suspect, no?"

"Rem?" He shakes his head. "No. Even if she wanted to kill Kira, she would be more...straightforward. The brutality certainly fits, but I can't imagine her leaving a trail of clues behind. The killer clearly wants us to find them, and it's exactly the sort of game that Ryuk would probably think up."

"That explains a lot about your life choices," L says mildly, smirking slightly when Light flips him off.

"Let's just find that charger."

"You seem to be in quite a hurry to get this over with." L sighs dramatically. "One might think you didn't appreciate my company, Yagami-kun."

"Oh, please," he says, matching L's theatrics with a head toss and pointed sniff of his own. "Considering your standards of cleanliness, you'd have better luck with wild animals. At least a monkey might appreciate having someone to groom."

L's eyebrows shoot up. "But you're still here, Yagami-kun. What does that make you?"

Light wrinkles his nose. "Masochistic, evidently."

"Self-deprecation? That's rather unlike you."

"The alternative is insulting you, and you can hardly sink any lower," Light says, shrugging.

A genuine laugh bursts from L's lips, low and long. "Well, that _is_ a problem. How can I redeem myself?"

"Eat some vegetables," Light says immediately.

L pulls a face. "You really are cruel, Yagami-kun. How about a compromise?" He extends his arm outward. "I demonstrate my gallantry and chivalry by escorting you to an electronics store-"

"A compromise requires two people to agree, L," he says, rolling his eyes. "What you are suggesting falls more under the purview of unilateral annoyance."

"Ah, is that negative reinforcement I hear?" L cups a hand to his ear, grinning. "My current behaviors are acceptable, then! How gratifying!"

"Delayed gratification is apparently a foreign concept to you," Light sighs.

L waggles his eyebrows. "You would know all about that, wouldn't you, Yagami-kun?"

He nearly misses a step. "You know Ryuk is probably listening to all of this over our shoulders, right? Giant, creepy, goggling eyes, sharp teeth, and all?"

"And you say my tastes are esoteric," L muses, and Light has to press a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter.

"Oh, what the hell," he says, linking his arm in L's. "Have it your way, you pervert."

"Don't tell me you just figured that out?"

"Shut up," Light says, elbowing him. "I'm trying to actually enjoy this, against my better judgment."

"I'm very pleased to be judged worthy by Yagami-kun," L says, perking up. "I am sure that someday, you will live up to my judgments as well."

Okay, so that does devolve an otherwise perfectly pleasant walk into more of a friendly squabble. But still, it feels _good._ The spectre of Kira is finally gone, Atlas' burden lifted from his shoulders, and why _shouldn't_ he enjoy it?

Besides, he thinks, considering all of the clues the killer left behind, it's not as if they're planning to run away anywhere.

One way or another, this will all be over soon.

***

Perhaps not as soon as Light had thought.

The phone is locked by a complex alphanumeric code rather than the standard 4-number input. Their only clue as to what the password might be is a single prompt, blinking on the screen.

WHERE ARE YOU?

"I suspect that London isn't going to cut it," L says glumly.

"Well, we're definitely not in Mu," Light says, unable to keep a certain snideness out of his voice. "What?" he says, shrugging when L tilts his head quizzically at him. "I wasn't the only one who put fake rules in the Death Note, apparently."

"'The human who uses this notebook can go to neither Heaven nor Hell,'" L muses. "So I assume that those two are out as well. Still, do you suppose the killer truly has a metaphysical intent here? Judging from everything we've seen, it could very well be geographical."

Light sees the problem. If they attempt to bruteforce the password too many times, it could result in the phone locking them out, in which case they are, to put it bluntly, screwed.

"This is a lot more ambiguous than anything we've seen so far," he says folding his arms. "Surely there must be some other indication of the answer somewhere."

"The safe deposit box was otherwise unadorned." L's thumb brushes across his lips. "Perhaps we should think of this in terms of the killer's mindset. They seem to be tracking our movements, as shown by the phone call placed to the concierge about cleaning. Surely they must be aware of this clue's ambiguity."

"It wouldn't make sense for the answer to be ambiguous," Light says, frowning.

"Unless the purpose is not to derive a specific answer, but for us to answer the question. Where do we believe we are?"

Light eyes the phone doubtfully, but humors L anyways. "We could state that we are in an afterlife, or unlife, of some sort."

"Accurate, but dull." L extends the phone towards him. "Still, it's probably the most logical option. Try it, and see what happens."

Light hesitates for a moment. Still, it's worth a try, at least. Carefully, he types in 'afterlife', then hits the 'enter' key.

The phone buzzes, to his disappointment. Then, to his astonishment, the prompt on the screen changes.

WHO KILLED KIRA?

He pauses. Well. It's nice to have that confirmation of his identity, at least.

"Would Ryuk be more of a literal answer, or more of a metaphysical one?" L says, apparently deep in thought.

Light groans. He can't believe that they've sunk so low that this is actually a point of discussion. They don't even have any hard evidence that Ryuk is actually the culprit, other than probable cause. 

"We need to be certain," he says at last. "Isn't that your modus operandi?"

"It is true that there are many questions that remain unanswered," L admits. "The distorted voice on the phone that the concierge described *could* have been a shinigami. But while the marks on the windowsill of the room in which the murder took place do not necessarily rule out some sort of supernatural element, they do not confirm it, either."

"So we'll have to guess based on circumstantial evidence." Light scowls. "I don't like it."

"We can resort to ambiguity in this case, as well," L points out. "There was supernatural involvement in your _first_ death, was there not?"

L does have a point. A little ambiguity can't hurt, especially when considering that this entire place has obviously not been constructed by natural means. He deletes the first few letters of Ryuk's name, then types in "shinigami", tilting the screen towards L so that he can veto it if need be. With a nod from the detective, he hits the 'enter' button again.

A second buzz, although Light isn't quite as surprised this time. The prompt, however, hits him like a punch to the gut.

DO YOU REGRET IT?

"Yes," L says softly. 

Light spins around to face him. "What do _you_ have to regret?"

The detective sighs. "I...naturally suspect the worst of people, Yagami-kun. Because what I have seen is the worst of themselves. When you initiated our relationship, I perceived it as a trick. Similarly, when you told me about your hallucinations and the events leading up to your untimely demise, I dismissed them out of hand as mere manipulations."

Light frowns. "But, in life-"

"Well, obviously, you were Kira," L says dryly. "I do not regret attempting to arrest you. However." He hesitates for a moment, seemingly searching for the right words. "Our time here, for lack of a better term, has allowed me to reflect on the fact that I am fallible. I have made mistakes. When Kira relinquished the Death Note and your personality reverted to Light Yagami's, I noticed the change, of course. But I was unable to even consider the possibility that you may have truly changed. 

"After all, it was not your victims that motivated me. It was the thrill of chasing you. Perhaps if I had not acted so brutally, you may have felt something towards me other than the seething hatred that drove you as Kira. I could have, perhaps, made you hesitate in taking the final step in killing me. Or I could have dispensed with the games, and simply moved against you from a distance, sacrificing my reputation yet saving countless lives." He runs a hand through his hair. "My point is, I think, that what I regret the most is the damage caused by my pride."

"That's funny," Light manages to say, throat closing. "That's exactly what I would say I regret, as well. And-" And you, he wants to say; and Father, and Mother, and Sayu, but the detective already knows. L's hand squeezes his briefly before moving towards the phone, typing in a single word.

'Yes.'

The phone doesn't buzz.

"Ah, geez, you guys got boring!" L's eyes widen with interest as he peers over Light's shoulder. He almost doesn't bother turning around. He knows who that voice belongs to. He knows who he's going to see.

"Hello," L says, polite for once. "You must be Ryuk. I've heard so much about you."

"Really? Now I'm really embarrassed!" Reluctantly, Light turns around, just in time to catch the shinigami contorting himself into a particularly eye-watering pretzel twist.

"You should be embarrassed, if you thought putting together a stupid game like this was a good idea," he snaps.

"That's hurtful, you know," Ryuk sighs. "You humans are never satisfied. You give one power over life and death, the power of the gods, and what do they do? They whine and moan about the rules, or run to you for help." He shudders. "It's a good thing I put you out of your misery, you know. You'd _really_ hit a bit of a slump there."

"His whole life is a slump, when you think about it," L says cheerfully.

"Not now, L," Light hisses. He turns back towards Ryuk. "What was the point of all this?" he asks, gesturing with one hand to encompass the city around them. "Why did you do this? Amusement? Malice? Boredom?"

The shinigami groans. "Man, I thought you two were supposed to be detectives! Don't tell me you haven't figured it out yet! You're not in Heaven or Hell; there's not a lot of options left, you know..."

L gets it a fraction of a second before Light does, eyes wide with pure astonishment. "Divine punishment."

"We-e-ell, not precisely," the shinigami hedges. "I wouldn't call it that, exactly. Not for you, at least." Light wonders, briefly, what he means by that, but then the shinigami spreads his wings, and the city cracks open wide around them and there is only the void and L and him and Ryuk and-

"It's a little belated," Ryuk says, grinning as always. He leans in closer, twisting lazily in the air so that he floats upside down, staring back and forth between the two of them. "But welcome to Purgatory."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that! I actually met a self-imposed deadline, for once (more or less...)!
> 
> Once again, credit for the "Da Vinci Code except it sucks" idea goes to the wonderful Duinemerwen!


	12. Phoenix From The Flames

The shinigami drifts through the void, head slowly turning back and forth to stare expectantly at the two humans hanging in the center of the fathomless pool of darkness that surrounds them.

For a full minute, the silence of Mu is all that can be heard in the empty spaces between worlds.

After a few more precious moments go by without a single sound, Ryuk coughs dramatically. "Welcome to Purgatory!" he says again, waving his arms wildly.

Two pairs of extremely unimpressed eyes stare back at him. One of those pairs, twitching spasmodically, seems rather more murderous than the other one. But that's only to be expected, all things considered.

Sighing, the shinigami flips upright. "Humans really _are_ strange. Come on, you really don't have _anything_ to say to that?"

"You," Light growls through gritted teeth. _"You're_ behind all this, you psychotic little-"

L slaps a hand over Light's mouth, neatly dodging a well-aimed kick. "Is there something in particular that we should be saying?"

Ryuk perks up, staring at L hopefully. "How about: 'Great job, Ryuk! What a fun diversion that was! You deserve a promotion, with your raise paid in apples!'"

L's stare grows even more vacant. For a brief moment, Light stops thrashing around in favor of staring at Ryuk incredulously.

The shinigami's shoulders slump. "So I'm guessing that's a 'no' to filling out a positive review on my customer satisfaction card, then?"

Taking advantage of the stunned silence, Light finally manages to extricate himself from L's grip. "Are you fucking joking right now?" he shrieks.

"The shinigami have comment cards?" L says, clearly taken aback.

"It's a new initiative by the Old Man," Ryuk explains glumly. "The King of Death got a little worked up about the whole 'accidental mass murder' thing. Said the whole purgatory thing was my mess to sort out now. Between you and me, though, I think he's overreacting - I mean, you're humans, it's not like you weren't going to die eventually anyways-"

"Whatever the lowest rating on that card is, I'd give you an order of magnitude _lower,"_ Light hisses, fingers itching for a pen.

"Right," Ryuk mutters. "So I'll take that as a 'no', then." He casually tosses a balled-up piece of paper over his shoulder, allowing it to slowly dissolve into the nothingness of the void.

"Perhaps you could clarify," L says, and it's only because Light knows him so well that he can tell the detective's voice is ever-so-slightly strained. "How, precisely, do you consider yourself to have 'sorted us out?'"

"Geez, you guys should be happy!" Ryuk whines. "You passed the test! What's there to complain about?"

Light keeps his voice deceptively calm. "So. The little mysteries. The dull inhabitants. My hallucinations. Those were all because of you."

"Yep," Ryuk says blithely, then reconsiders. "Well, not *all* of them," he says, cackling slightly. "I guess you could say I had a little help sometimes. Hyuk hyuk hyuk."

"And you expect us to be _grateful_ for months of psychological torment?"

"Hey, it obviously worked out for you," Ryuk says, shrugging. "Only time I ever saw you happier was when you were killing people. To be honest, that was quite a lot of times, actually." Light does his best to ignore the look L gives him at that. "Besides, without little old me, neither of you would have regretted anything. Maybe _he_ would've been fine eventually," he says, pointing to L, "but you..." The shinigami smacks his lips together, making a loud popping noise. "Nope."

A chill runs down Light's spine. Ryuk seems harmless enough now, puppy-like and playful, but he can't forget the fact that he'd died with that same puppy's jaws fastened implacably around his throat.

"So we were right about the murder," L says cautiously. "The abhorrent nature of the crime was designed to force us into co-operation and manipulate our emotions so that we would feel...regretful?"

"You got the most important question right," Ryuk says with another shrug. "The others don't really matter to you, now."

"What would have happened if we'd gotten it wrong?" Light interjects, eyeing the shinigami warily.

"For him, nothing," Ryuk says. "He didn't use the Death Note, after all. We had special dispensation for just this one time; after that, he'd just have been stuck back into Purgatory alone until he'd gotten things right. For you, on the other hand..." For a brief moment, Ryuk actually looks serious. "I had high hopes for you, you know," he says, shaking his head. "Did you really want to end up in Mu that badly?"

Light feels L's long fingers wrap gently around his wrist. "Not any more," he says.

"Well, I guess that's it, then." The shinigami groans as he straightens up, wriggling about in an effort to get his spine back in alignment. "This is goodbye," he says regretfully. "We really did have some fun times together, but gods of death can't go where you're going. Maybe in a few centuries, when the heat's died down, I'll try dropping another Death Note again. Something to look forward to."

"Hang on," Light says, a brief pang of terror gripping him as he remembers the comment card vanishing into the darkness of Mu. "You're not going to leave us here, are you?"

"Nah," Ryuk says. "I'll drop you off." His wings unfurl to their full length, circling around the two of them. "Try not to expel any fluids on me, will you? This might get a little-"

***

_-rough,_ a voice seems to whisper into Light's ear, but its owner is already long gone. He blinks, shaking his head to clear his mind of the lingering memory of gun-metal gray and the beating of wings, then frowns as he notices the acrid taste in his mouth.

"Did I...throw up on Ryuk?" he wonders out loud.

"I cannot say that it is undeserved," L grumbles, dusting off his jeans. "Looks like he's dropped us right back where we were."

A stream of curses falls from Light's lips as he looks around at their familiar surroundings. The only thing different about their hotel room is that it looks slightly cleaner than before, although that's a low bar if there ever was one. "If I ever see Ryuk again, I'm really going to throttle him," he groans, squeezing his eyes shut as if he could make the entire city of London disappear by doing so.

"You know, he never really answered our questions about the murder," L says thoughtfully. "Was he always this evasive?"

"Not usually-" Light begins, but his voice trails off at the knock on the door. To his shock, the man on the other end barely hesitates before pushing the door open.

"Oh," the Winged Victoria concierge says, startled. "Terribly sorry. I suppose you're new arrivals, then?"

Light takes another quick look around the room. Their possessions, meager as they are, are all there - the laptop, the cellphone, a pile of clothes that L has undoubtedly stacked up in order to annoy him.

"We are your hotel detectives," L says cautiously, indicating his nametag with one thumb.

"Hotel detectives," the man repeats, bewildered. Sudden comprehension suffuses his features. "Ah! Must be some sort of weird Purgatory thing. No, what I mean is that you're _new arrivals._ You know, to the afterlife?"

Light notes the differences almost absentmindedly. A completely different personality from whatever shell Ryuk had set up to facilitate their 'rehabilitation', actual awareness of his surroundings, knowledge of his circumstances and presumed demise-

"Yes," L says bluntly, nodding. "We are new arrivals to the afterlife."

"Oh, good," the man blurts out, relieved. "So you're not freaking out that you're, you know..." He draws one finger eloquently across his throat with an exaggerated grimace.

"Tactful," L says approvingly, with no trace of irony.

"No," Light says slowly. "No, we are not 'freaking out.'"

"Great." The concierge claps his hands together. "So in that case, you're cool with me evicting you, right?"

"What?" Light says indignantly. "We are certainly not 'cool.' Those two things have absolutely no relation to each other-"

"Hey, don't be weird about this," the concierge warns them. "Don't make me call the cops on you guys."

"The cops?" L murmurs, eyebrows rising. "This establishment really has gone up in the world."

"What can I say?" the concierge says, shrugging. "Some people don't really change who they are, you know, even after Purgatory. But some of us...we learn our lesson. You know?"

"I think he honestly believes that to be profound," Light mutters under his breath.

"It's all right," L assures the man. "We'll get our things." At Light's inquisitive look, the detective leans in closer. "We'd better leave," L whispers, "before this bright spark here gets the idea to charge us for our stay."

After that, Light helps him pack with alacrity.

***

Light neatly stacks their bags as they move to the side of the street, shading their eyes against the sun.

"No money again," L says glumly. "The very least your shinigami could have done was give us an explanatory pamphlet, or something. That comment card would probably have come in handy right now."

"He's not _my_ shinigami," Light says automatically. Frowning, he peers at the scenery around them. "L," he says urgently. "These buildings - they're different-"

The detective has already frozen in place, staring at the new set of flats that's gone up across the block. "That wasn't there when I died. If buildings that did not exist in Purgatory exist here-"

Light finishes the obvious thought for him, breath catching in his throat. "The same might go for people, too."

L pulls the phone from his pocket, fingers flying across the number pad. Heedless of the disapproving tuts he receives from passers-by, he puts the call on speakerphone.

"Hello," a tinny voice says from the other end of the line. "This is Wammy's House." L stares at the screen, eyes wide, apparently unable to speak. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

L licks his lips, moving the phone a little closer. "Watari?"

There is another long pause, then a sigh. "You're late, you know."

"I know," L says softly. "Sorry."

Watari lets out an indulgent sigh. "I should have known you'd be stuck in Purgatory for ages. Stubborn as always, even as a child-"

"Yes, yes, no need to go into details," L says hurriedly.

Watari isn't done, evidently. "-why, I remember that one time when you were 5 and we tried to replace Fluffy, that teddy bear you were inseparable from. Never mind that it was falling apart and covered in vast amounts of candy residue, you went on a hunger strike anyways because you claimed it was a clear case of _identity theft,_ of all things-"

Light's grin is wide and malicious. "Fluffy the teddy bear, hmm?"

L covers the mouthpiece with his hand, glaring at him. "I lacked suitable conversational partners to aid me with problem-solving. At least Fluffy didn't just drool vacantly whenever I attempted to explain my theorems to it." He quickly moves to cut Watari off. "Reminiscences aside, there is a very good reason why I am delayed. The shinigami interfered in the process, it seems-"

"Shinigami?" Watari's voice sharpens. "Was Kira involved?"

"You could say that," L says dryly, giving Light a pointed look.

Watari sighs. "In that case-"

"Hey!" a familiar voice squawks from the other end of the line. "Give me that, Matt - yeah, hello, L? It's Mello, one of your successors-"

"Mello, get off the phone," Watari says wearily.

"Not a chance, Matt's had a tap on this thing for ages," the mafioso boy says smugly.

"Yo," Matt says.

"We worked on the Kira case after your death-"

"Really?" L says innocently. "I heard that it was Near who solved that case."

"Near?!" Mello squawks indignantly. "Of fucking _course_ he swoops in and takes all the credit-"

"Language!" Watari barks.

"Of shitting course he takes all the credit-" Watari sighs resignedly in the background. "-but we worked together on that case. Without my contributions, we wouldn't have been able to expose the first _or_ the second Kira." He pauses for a moment. "Wait," Mello says suspiciously. "Who did you hear that from? Don't tell me that bastard's ended up here already?"

"I heard it from _a_ bastard," L says, still faking innocence. "At any rate, I'm sure you'll see soon enough."

"Yeah, you're not too far from here judging by the street noises," Matt drawls.

"The street noises? L, are we on _speakerphone?_ " Watari says, aghast.

"So what's this about Kira and an interfering shinigami?" Mello says eagerly.

"You can ask him yourself," L says calmly. "I'll bring him with me when I stop by. Assuming there's an available place to stay, of course."

"Yeah, there's loads of rooms here," Matt says.

"Hang on, you're bringing Kira _here?"_ Mello says.

"L, did you chain the suspect to you again?" Watari asks calmly. "It's important. I need to know how many bedrooms to prepare."

"Oh, just one. Since I'm dating Kira, by the way."

"I'm reformed!" Light protests.

"Holy shit, what? Wait, what? Is that seriously _Kira?_ The same Kira?" Mello shrieks, pitch rising several octaves.

"Kira made it through Purgatory?" Matt says, sounding just as astonished.

"That's not the point, dumbass, he just said he's _dating Kira-"_

"That'll be two bedrooms, then," Watari says firmly. "There are still children living here, you know."

"Is anyone else hearing this?" Mello screams. "Hey, L, that's a joke, right? That's a fucking joke, right?"

"For the last time, Mello, language!" Watari barks.

"See you soon," L says sweetly, then presses a button to end the call, neatly cutting off the steadily rising cacophony. He flashes a grin at Light. "Looks like we have accommodations for the night, at least. And suitable food, I'm sure."

"Right," Light says weakly, trying and failing not to laugh. "Assuming we survive."

"You're the one in danger, not me," L says smugly. "I could protect you, of course, since you're such a damsel in distress-"

"I'll manage somehow," Light says, rolling his eyes. "Somehow, I don't think Mello's mafia friends have made it through Purgatory yet."

"Probably not," L agrees. He weighs the phone in his hand for a moment before extending it towards him. "While we still have a modicum of privacy, isn't there anyone you'd like to call, Yagami-kun?"

He hesitates for a moment, thousands of lifetimes worth of regret settling on his shoulders. Then, straightening his back, he reaches out for the phone. "Even if they don't forgive me, it's important to be certain, right?" he says, frowning at the screen.

"You've changed quite a lot, Yagami-kun," L says gently. "Besides, forever is a long time when it comes to suspicion, or forgiveness, for that matter. It's important to start somewhere, after all."

Before he can change his mind, he dials the familiar number; closes his eyes as he holds the phone up to his ear. As he hears the slightly groggy voice on the other end, Light takes a deep breath.

_"Hello? Who is this?"_

"Hello, Father," Light says, defaulting to formality if not eloquence. "It's me. Light."

Soichiro Yagami's voice sounds considerably more alert. "I see." Light expects hesitation, ambivalence; those emotions he is prepared for, but his father's next words nearly send him to his knees with relief. "Welcome home, son."

And, as Light finally releases the breath he'd been holding; as he meets L's eyes in the sunlight of their eternal afterlife, he knows that he has at last truly come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one small epilogue chapter left! It's been a wild ride - hope you guys had fun reading about Light and L's misadventures :)


	13. Death In Fire

Light as a feather, dark as a dream, Ryuk touches down gently on the surface of the shinigami realm. He looks around him, wrinkling his nose, then shakes out his wings in a futile attempt to get the smell of human out of them.

Nope. It's no use.

"Well, whatever," Ryuk sighs. It's not as if this sorry lot are even going to notice, anyways. And besides, he has somewhere important to be.

He trudges past several scrying spheres, yet another gambling game, and two withered, pathetic excuses for apple trees before he finally reaches his destination. He shakes his head when he sees the shinigami he'd been looking for, still hunched intently over the surface of a darkened scrying sphere.

"It's no use, you know," he says conversationally. "That window isn't about to open again any time soon. Even if it does, it's not like it'll show those two-"

"I know," the other shinigami snaps, hunching down even further. Ryuk's grin widens slightly as he notices the widening distortions in her voice. Impossible, now, to mistake it for a human's.

_We're almost there, huh?_

He cocks his head at her curiously. "So why're you still looking, then?"

She doesn't answer.

"Aw, come on," he whines, drifting closer. "Don't tell me you're still not convinced. You've got to leave all that human stuff behind, you know? Not like it's going to do you any good for the rest of eternity. Hyuk hyuk-"

"He never cared," his new colleague says quietly. "Did he?"

"Nope," Ryuk says, smacking his lips together.

Bone grinds against bone as the shinigami's claws curl around her wrist, clutching tighter and tighter by the second. "I'm so stupid. He was just laughing at me all along, wasn't he? Even...even when I did all that for him..."

"I've gotta ask," Ryuk interrupts, sensing that this is about to turn into yet another extremely boring litany of woe. "What exactly were you trying to prove there? I mean, sure, you put in a lot of work, but it was a little-"

She rounds on him, lips pulling back from her teeth in a snarl. "A little _what?"_

"Oh, you know," he says with a shrug, wisely floating a few feet away. "Personal."

"Of course it was personal!" Her features twist with anguish. "You heard him! All those days, you heard him! He didn't even think of me, not once, and when he did it was with _contempt!_ He even hid from me when he saw me! In a few short weeks, he gave _him_ more love than he gave me in _five years!"_

Ryuk waits for a few moments, letting the lingering echoes of her shrieks settle into the dust of their dead world. "Have you learned your lesson, then?"

A bitter laugh passes her thin lips. "What, that it was all a lie?"

"I was going more for 'humans are strange', but I guess that's true as well, huh?"

She closes her eyes for a few minutes. When she speaks again, her voice is colder, calmer, resplendent with the sepulchral tones of death. "If he had just thought about it for a second, he would have realized it. I left traces of my fingers on the windowsill. Only I could have fit through that window with ease. Only I would have known the depths of his lies, his traitorousness, his betrayal of our love. Only I would have killed for him, removed the obstacle in his path. I even took care to put together those riddles for him, the sort that he loved, and he couldn't even treat them with anything except for scorn."

Ryuk scratches his head. "Hmm, I don't really get it. I thought you were all googly for Kira, not for Light."

"I thought that if Kira didn't love me after all, maybe Light would," she says flatly. "But that was all a lie, just like his 'justice.' I was just doing whatever he wanted this whole time."

_Ah, finally, she gets it!_ Ryuk nods along, chin nestled in his palm, content to let her slowly realize the truth for herself.

He has to hand it to the Old Man. At first, he'd been pretty miffed about the King of Death's insistence on choosing _her_ as the next one to join their ranks instead of the obvious choice. In vain, he'd pointed out that just because two shinigami had inexplicably chosen to die for her didn't really mean there was anything special about her. She was just another human. Kind of a cute human, but not as smart or vindictive or fun as his pet, Light Yagami.

Now, though, watching her, he finally understands. Light had gone on and on and on about the human idea of justice. No matter what, he hadn't managed to let that concept go. But for a shinigami, justice doesn't exist. How can it? A shinigami kills heedless of good or evil, right or wrong. There is only necessity.

Maybe it wasn't always that way. In millennia of servitude, justifications tend to eventually blur away.

But what they've never had, in all these years, is a shinigami with a raging vendetta against humanity, and a demonstrated complete lack of inhibition or self-awareness to accompany it.

Things are about to get pretty interesting for the human world, aren't they?

He realizes belatedly that she's stopped talking. The shinigami that was once Misa Amane stares at him, eyes glowing dully through a curtain of blond hair. It's the only feature that remains of the human she had been, as far as he can tell.

Not quite as stylish as him, yet. But she'll get there.

"Are you ready?" he asks, carefully unwrapping the Death Note that the Old Man had given him.

"Yes," she whispers. He watches her claws close around the book reverently. Carefully, she unfolds the pages, tracing the name the King of Death has chosen for her on the inside of the front cover.

He'd warned Light, hadn't he? Technically, Ryuk hadn't lied to him. No user of the Death Note ever goes directly to Heaven or Hell, although they always stop off briefly in Mu along the way.

But only the rarest of users ever join the ranks of the gods.

"All right!" he says, grinning widely. "Let's go. We've got lots to do, you know?"

Obediently, Alumina trails after him. She's eager to get started. He can tell.

Unseen by anyone, Ryuk's grin stretches nearly to his ears as the wheels in his head turn, and turn, and turn.

_This is going to be_ fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And on that ominous note, we're done! Thank you so much for sticking with this fic until the very end! I had originally intended it to be a purely humorous fic, but it went some places that I hadn't expected at the start. I hope you had as much fun reading this story as I did writing it :)


End file.
